Your Coffin or Mine? (27 page)

I turned to one specific door on the left. Another padlock barred my way, but I crushed it, splintering the pieces and letting them fall to the floor.

It had been over a month since I’d actually seen Ty, and while I could picture him clearly in my mind, seeing him in the flesh was a completely different experience. Every nerve jumped to attention. My heart paused in my chest. Awareness bubbled up my spine, followed by a rush of dread.

My gaze pored over his face, battered and bruised because he’d yet to feed and, therefore, heal. His lips were swollen. More bruises dotted his bare torso. Angry red slash marks crisscrossed his chest and I felt my own back throb. He wore a pair of jeans and nothing else, the material filthy and stained. My heart gave a painful thud and suddenly I couldn’t move. Pain paralyzed me, a feeling that had nothing to do with my mental connection with him and what he was feeling, and everything to do with my own feelings for him.

“It’s okay.” His voice echoed through my head and zapped me back to reality.

I turned toward the small form that cowered in the corner. The boy looked to be about eight or nine. Average size with blond hair and blue eyes.

“Hey,” I said when I reached him.

His eyes popped open and he stared up at me as if I were about to whack him with a ruler and haul him to the principal’s office.

“It’s okay,” I told him. I reached for his shoulder and started to pull him forward, and he bit me. “Ouch!” I snatched my hand back and eyed the faint indentations in my skin. I contemplated biting him back for an eighth of a second, but I’d always liked a more mature flavor of blood. Something aged and mellowed, not bubbling and prepubescent.

I forced my most understanding smile. After all, he was freaked. Biting was totally understandable.

I reached out again and he kicked me. And then he pulled my hair. And then he grabbed my shirt—

“Hold it!” I gripped his shoulders and exerted enough pressure to make his eyes go wide. “I’m trying to help you, all right?” My gaze pushed into his. Calming. Entrancing.

He went limp then, and I was able to lift him and head for the door. A few seconds later, I headed around the building and started toward the small security stand that sat near the park entrance. Several yards away, I stood him on his wobbly legs and stared into his glazed eyes.

“Listen up, kid. I want you to turn and walk straight over to that security guard. Tell him your name and your mother’s name and your phone number.” He knew that, right? I tried to remember myself at eight, but that had been during the pre-cellphone era. In fact, we’re talking pre-Morse code.

“You know your phone number?” The glazed look faded for a split-second and realization struck. He nodded.

“Good.” I smiled and stared deep into his eyes.

You’re going to give the guard your digits and then you’re going to forget all about me.
I sent the silent message.
And the bad vampire who abducted you. And the really hot, hunky vampire who suffered so that he wouldn’t hurt you (awww). It was all just a bad dream thanks to too many hot dogs. You’re also going to listen to your mom, clean your room, and do your best in school.

Hey, what’s the point of being a Super Vamp if you can’t do something good for mankind every once in a while?

A whole list of answers rifled through my head, starting with (1) the point of being a Super Vamp is to make little Super Vamps, and (2) to bend humans to your will and feed, and the ever popular, (3) to make oodles of money so that you can support the little Super Vamps and bend humans to your will and, of course, feed.

I tuned out my vamp conscience—which sounded way too much like my mother—and turned.

One down. One to go.

I headed back inside the engine room, down below and into the basement. Crossing the concrete floor, I leaned down and touched Ty’s shoulder.

“Hey. Can you hear me?”

“Yes.” His lips were thick around the word.

He forced his eyelids open a fraction and I saw the deep blue of his gaze. Pain clouded the vivid color, and I felt a rush of anger. I was so going to kick someone’s ass after I helped Ty to safety.

“I’m going to carry you out of here,” I said and started to slide my hands beneath him.

My fingertips grazed his bruised and swollen flesh and he bucked. He caught his lips against a scream of agony and his fangs sank deep into his lower lip, drawing blood.

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” he finally managed. “…don’t think…I…can…move.” Each word was a struggle and my heart twisted.

He’d been starved for so long that he couldn’t heal. Rather, he was one big open wound. I could move him, but it would hurt. So much that I knew I had to figure out something else.

I remembered that night at my apartment when Ty had shown up and let me drink from him that very first time. I’d gotten staked in the shoulder, and we’re talking mega pain. A few sips from him and I’d felt loads better.

At the same time, that’s what had linked us in the first place. I’d drank from him and bam, instant mind connection. If I let him drink from me, it would make the link that much stronger. The sharing of blood was serious business among vampires. We’re talking an unbreakable bond. A serious commitment. A—

Well, you get the idea.

I was already halfway there and not liking it one bit because I knew on a realistic level that Ty and I were doomed. He wasn’t my type and I wasn’t his. It was a tragedy about to happen. The typical born vampire would cut her losses and head for the nearest twenty-four-hour Neiman’s.

At the same time, there were no twenty-four-hour Neiman’s and I was hardly the typical born vamp.

I’d drank from him. And slept with him. And I actually liked him. I couldn’t NOT help. Even if it made walking away that much more difficult.

And I would walk. I had to. I had little vamps to squeeze out, after all.

But not right now.

I glanced at the inside of my own arm. Blue veins bulged just beneath the smooth, tanned surface, pulsing with life. I opened my mouth and bared my fangs. Sinking them into my own wrist, I opened a vein and held it to his lips.

The blood drip-dropped into his mouth and his Adam’s apple bobbed. Once. Twice. His lips moved and his tongue lapped at my wrist. A few more seconds and his arm stirred. His hand came up, catching my wrist and holding it to his mouth as he took control.

His mouth opened. His fangs grazed my flesh and sank deep. I gasped and leaned against him. My eyes closed.

He drank for several moments, sucking so hard that I eventually felt the pull on my nipples and between my legs.

No, I told myself. This was a dire situation. Perilous. We weren’t in a penthouse suite somewhere in Manhattan: No champagne chilling on the night-stand, no rose petals sprinkled on the bed, no Barry White drifting from the speakers. But I couldn’t help myself. This was Ty and I’d missed him and—
oh. Ohhhhhhhh…

He pulled away just before the
oh
morphed into a
yesss
!

I sagged against the table and tried to gather my wits. I’d almost swept them into a nice big pile, too, when I heard the cold voice that drifted from the doorway.

“Well, well. Isn’t this sweet?”

Thirty

H
is name was Logan Drake and he was a born vampire.

The first I knew because he said, “I’m so glad we’re finally getting the chance to meet, Miss Marchette. Logan Drake at your service.”

The second I knew because his scent rushed at me, spiraling through my nostrils. I had an instant flashback to my childhood. Many a midnight I’d hidden in the cupboard to eavesdrop on the latest castle gossip while the human maids had gabbed and scarfed raisins and rice pudding.

I
know.

I felt nauseous just thinking about it. Smelling it really made me want to blow chunks.

Just for the record, I’d faced off with sadistic vampires on more than one occasion—all in the past few months, as a matter of fact. First, there’d been Super Scary Vamp who’d been kidnapping girls, turning them to vamps, and leaving them for dust once the sun came up. And then Ayala, a client and born vamp princess who’d blamed me for killing her werewolf lover (a
long
story). But this guy definitely topped my list of dangerous and psychotic night stalkers.

Drake was tall, with dark hair that had been slicked back and dark brown eyes that tried to drill through me. He wore black slacks, a dark brown shirt, and enough hair gel to make even Mr. Weather look au natural. He looked as handsome as any other born vamp. Dazzling even, especially when he smiled. But his eyes were cold. Yeah, I know. That was classic vamp, too, but in a weird, twisted way that stirred a wave of dread instead of the usual
Ugh, here we go again with the snotty pretentious bullshit.

“I see you showed up just in time for dinner.” He stepped inside the room, his attention shifting, searching. “Where is our little friend? The leftovers, anyway.” Another sweeping gaze and his smile died. “He isn’t here.”

“And the lightbulb goes off.”

His gaze shifted back to me. “You got rid of him.”

“I returned him.” My mind raced. “Um, that is, after I ripped him to shreds.” We’re talking dangerous and psychotic, which meant I needed to be equally dangerous and psychotic. At least he needed to think so, otherwise, I wasn’t going to make it out of here with Ty. “And then I ate his heart,” I added.

He stared at me as if I’d declared myself a Democrat. (FYI: most born vamps are card-carrying Republicans.) His expression settled into a frown and he took another step into the room. And another.

“Stop, or I’ll eat yours. I swear.”

He smiled this time and fear rippled up and down my spine. Crazy, I know. While I’d never actually eaten an internal organ in my entire afterlife, I could have if I’d wanted to. I’m a mad, bad vampire, after all.

I was little match for this guy. He was older. Ancient, judging by the deepness of his eyes and the confidence with which he faced me. I’d seen my father (more than eight hundred years old) face down his next-door neighbor Viola with the same look.

Of course, he usually had a power tool in hand, or a gold club, or at least some heavy-duty weed killer. But you get the idea.

“What do you say I rip out your heart?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “And, of course, we’ll let Ty watch. Then again, he really isn’t in much shape for a show, so he’ll have to settle for a play-by-play commentary.”

I spared a quick glance at Ty. The pasty white pallor of his skin had faded and slowly but surely his color was returning. But he was still bruised and battered, the welts raw and oozing. While he’d drunk his fill, he’d been starving for far too long to get his strength back any time soon. He needed to heal. To sleep.

Uh-oh.

Logan stepped toward me again and I inched away from Ty. He was still vulnerable, and I didn’t want Psycho Vamp freaking out and harming him when I was the one he really wanted.

“First up, the powerful Logan Drake advances,” the vampire said as if he were doing commentary at a Knicks game. “He reaches out.”

I sidestepped the hands that grabbed for me and whirled.

“He advances again, going for the throat.”

I ducked and twirled, stumbling in the process because he lunged again before I could get my footing.

“She’s fast, boys, but Logan is faster. He goes for the arm.”

I dodged his hand, which pushed me closer to the wall.

“He goes for the throat again.”

I ducked to avoid the hand. But while it passed overhead, his other hand moved in from below, catching my throat in a viselike grip. The pressure cut off my blood flow and everything went hazy as he slung me around and threw me toward the opposite wall. I slammed into the wall. Cement shattered and pieces flew. Before I could open my eyes, he reached for me again, grabbing, squeezing, throwing. He tossed me around like a rag doll several more times, his voice echoing through my head.

“She’s weakening, folks. Soon Logan will go for the kill. He’ll rip out her jugular, feast on her blood. You hear that, Ty? She’ll die by my hand. I’ll take her from you just as you took Loralei from me.”

Grab. Choke. Slam.

Over and over.

“I’m through playing,” Logan announced, his voice barely pushing past the pounding of my heart. “I’m going to rip her apart now and bathe in her blood.”

Ick. I don’t
think
so.

I wasn’t sure if it was the ick factor that spurred me on or the fact that I was pissed. Either way, I managed to gather my determination and get my knee up just as he reached for me again. I kicked him full in the stomach, sending him flying toward the opposite wall.

Concrete flew as he hit and I struggled to my feet. I moved fast, flying across the room and landing another vicious kick to his middle before he could get back up.

Yep, he was older, all right, which gave him the confidence advantage. But I was younger, with more to lose (my afterlife and a pair of sticky flip-flops that I was determined to salvage).

He flew at me and I met him halfway. He chomped down on my arm and I twisted at his head, fighting him off as the blood spurted and sprayed my favorite pair of Chloe’s. Pain hit me hard and fast, but it was nothing compared to the anger. I was so pissed.