Bite Me (Blood Chord Book 2) Page 5

  It’s a good thing I wasn’t a spy; I’d be horrible at it.

  As I went to close the closet door, the package I’d stowed in there caught my eye. I glanced at the clock again... I could spare a minute, but only that. I pulled the box out and sliced through the packing tape with my finger nail. I hesitated before lifting the flaps open. This was the package I assumed was from Bette and whatever was in it, I was sure I wouldn’t like it.

  As I revealed the contents of the package, I couldn’t help but think that I’d been right. What I didn’t know was what it meant. I reached in and let my fingers drift over the polished wood, plucked a string and then snatched my hand back, looking around.

  I’m not sure what I expected to happen, but the last time I’d laid eyes on this particular violin, I’d been enthralled to play it despite my lack of experience, then my freaky talents had been unleashed and the rest was downhill from there. I was just about to close the box back up when I spied an envelope tucked beside the cursed violin. I snatched it out quickly, shut the box back up and shoved it into the back corner of the closet.

  Just having it in my house made me nervous as hell.

  I didn’t want to read the note, and thankfully I didn’t have the time to spare, so I decided to take it with me. I left the envelope in my purse and went to get ready. I slipped on a pair of cowboy boots, which paired nicely with my dark-washed skinny jeans, natural gauzy camisole and brown corduroy jacket. I left my hair long and a little wild and slipped on a pair of oversized cream sunglasses. Snatching my purse up, I stuffed Bette's note inside one of the compartments, fished out my car keys and looked around for Morgan.

  She was nowhere to be seen, so I scribbled off a quick note telling her where I was going and that I’d bring Quinn home with me after school. I did my best to ignore the worries creeping into my mind- like how I was going to get in the school without feeling like I’d been set on fire. At least I didn’t have to worry about getting in the car—I’d left it in the garage overnight for that very reason.

  As I backed out of the garage, I laughed at myself for making fun of my car the night before. Sure, it wasn’t a Ferrari but at least it kept me from getting crispy—it was one of the few cars I’d been able to find that came with super-dark factory tint, anything aftermarket and still legal in Virginia wouldn’t help me one bit. So this gerbil of a car was my only option at the moment, unless I wanted to have a car and driver like Bette.

  I shivered at the thought of having my own personal Domino eyeballing me in the rearview mirror with his little raisin eyes. Geesh. No way, no how.

  Making pretty good time, I was still careful to stay within the speed limit... getting pulled over at high noon wasn’t a very comfortable option for me these days. I turned into the entrance to Quinn’s school, cringing at the rather large sign hammered into the front lawn proclaiming today to be the day for the Community Blood Drive.

  Yes, I had unknowingly volunteered to help with a blood donation event. Yay me!

  Believe when I say, I’d tried to get out of working this particular event with everything I’d had—at one point I’d even considered confessing that as a Vampire it wasn’t in their best interests to let me anywhere near the Blood Drive—but that control-freak PTA president Mary Ellen had dismissed any excuse I’d come up with like she was swatting mosquitos in her back yard while sipping a Long Island Ice Tea. There was no reason she needed me here for this, other than I didn’t want to be. Mary Ellen was the original mean girl.

  Believe me, if I had a list of locals that I was dying to snack on, she’d be right near the top.

  I parked around the side of the school, in what was most likely the custodial area, given the generous overhang that housed buckets, a broken desk and various brooms, mops and tools fixed to racks on the walls. For me though, it looked like a shaded haven. I’d only have to sprint ten feet or so and then I’d be in the dark alcove and pain free.

  I just hoped and prayed the door was open or at least unlocked. My Mom voice chimed in and wondered how safe that would be for the children inside, if any weirdo off the street could just wander in the back door?

  Grabbing my purse and hopping out of the car, I prayed that no one was around to hear my shrill voice shouting, “Hot, Hot, Hot!” all the way to the safety of the shade. Once my skin didn’t feel like it was on fire any longer, I took a second to regain my composure and straighten my clothes, then I tried the door. Lucky for me, entry was easy-peasy.

  Of course, I would have complained about the open door to the Principle if I’d had the chance, but as it turns out I had much more worrisome things to deal with.

  Upon entering the gymnasium, I was swept up by the aforementioned Mary Ellen, who ping-ponged me around giving me the lay of the land. From her erratic behavior she seemed to be sizing me up, trying on different jobs for me in her mind until she settled on whatever would make me squirm the most.

  We were stopped in front of the line of donor chairs, most which were already occupied. A nurse was busy hooking up her next victim and to my horror (and delight!) the woman’s blood began to flow into the bag right in front of me. I felt like an alcoholic who’s stumbled over an open bar.

  Blood, blood, everywhere and not a drop to drink.

  Mary Ellen was talking and I hadn’t heard a bit of what she’d said.

  “I’m sorry,” I did my best to drag my eyes away from that which I wanted, “You were saying?”

  Her face pinched into a lopsided grin, “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. And if not, try putting your head between your knees.”

  Mary Ellen turned from me and addressed the nurse, “Claire here is going to be your little scuttled monkey. Just tell her what you need and she’ll be right on it. Trash, clean up...whatever you need, just tell her.”

  With that, the uptight control freak turned and walked away. I’d been enslaved.

  Sadly, I kind of wished Mary Ellen would come back and boss me around a little bit more. I needed something, anything, to distract me from the blood flowing everywhere I looked.

  “It won’t be that bad,” the nursed taped the IV line to the donor seated in front of her and smiled in my direction. “I’m Dara.”

  I tried to return her smile, but my stupid eyes kept zeroing in on the blood. I was like a bull spotting red. I felt the twin pricks in my gum line, a sign that things were about to get real, really fast.

  I thought of Quinn, and all the other children sitting in their classrooms—innocent and optimistic—and my hunger quieted just enough to let me turn my attention back to the nurse, Dara. Thank the Gods.

  “Mostly, I’ll need you to keep an eye on the donors—make sure nobody is getting ready to pass out—and let me know when each person’s bag is getting close to full. Other than that, I could use some help keeping the supplies on deck and packing it all up once we’re done for the day.

  Great, I was to be the bloody bag babysitter.

  I wondered briefly if it would make me a bad person to admit that I was thinking of trying to swipe a few blood bags before days end... but then I remembered my last victim, currently laying in a hospital bed and realized that I was already a horrible person. The theft a few bags of blood couldn’t tip the scales against me much more than they already were.

  The next two hours went by slower than molasses rolling uphill in the winter.

  That is to say, it was the longest afternoon of my life thus far. Between the handful of donors that hyperventilated at the sight of their own blood to the ones that kept trying to swipe more than one cookie from the tray when my back was turned, not to mention the sight of blood rushing down the IV lines, well, let’s just say I was crankier than usual.

  I mean, if I could abstain from eating them, the least that they could do is sit there for ten freaking minutes without whining and wanting two cookies. Where the hell was my damn cookie for being a good little vampire?

  As it turned out, I never even had the chance to bag a few take-home meals for
myself.

  While I was helping Nurse Dara clean up, some official looking guy from the hospital’s blood bank came and picked up the coolers containing the blood, so unless I wanted to sniff the bloody gauze in the trash can for my fix, I was shit out of luck.

  I wasn’t surprised in the least. That’s the way the cookie had been crumbling for me for a while now.

  Chapter Seven

  After the day I’d had at the blood drive, I had no choice but to go out hunting that night, but I was terrified of the possibility of a repeat performance. While wrestling with myself, pitting the hunger versus my fragile morality, I had an epiphany—I’d been approaching my victim selection all wrong.

  It was so simple I felt like a moron for not thinking about it sooner.

  Instead of choosing people who deserved my brand of torture: the cheaters, the jerks, the bottom feeders; I needed to go with someone good and wholesome. I had to choose someone that deserved to live, so that I’d care about them enough to override the desire to suck them dry.

  Of course, scaring some poor innocent soul shitless wouldn’t do either, so I’d have to work on my ability to soothe them, to make them feel wonderful without remembering why. Or maybe seduce them so damn good that they’d be too far gone to care.

  Not for the first time, I wished this vampire mess came with some sort of handbook.

  Of course, most vampires had their makers around to show them the ropes. Me, I should have gotten a booby prize at least. Maybe one of those shirts the proclaimed “I went to Vampire Land and all I got was a crummy t-shirt sexual identity crisis.”

  Maybe I should try to find a woman for the evening? A nice, sweet woman with soft skin and a warm smile. She’d be shy and trusting, easy on the eyes.

  Aw, hell, who was I kidding?

  The blood pool in my neck of the woods was too small to think I could order from a menu like that. The reality was I’d have to take what I could get or move to a more urban area. That, or compel a stable of blood servants. (I was pretty sure that I couldn’t do that—but how wild would that be if I could!)

  It was late, close to eleven, before I went out for the night. Quinn was already asleep and Morgan had gone to bed with a headache, so my exit was fairly painless. Let’s face it, getting out of the house alone when you had kids was usually more effort than it was worth—but not so much for me anymore, since I began keeping odd hours.

  Instead of heading back to Clamdigger’s again, where the clientele was more naughty than nice, I changed tactics and traveled about twenty minutes south to the quaint town of Wachapreague, or “Little City by the Sea” as the Native Americans originally named it.

  In that tiny town built on the edge of the water stood an upscale restaurant with a bar and a large wrap-around deck where patrons gathered while the salt water lapped the pilings beneath their feet. They would sit in designer chairs, wine glasses in hand, making small talk. All the while a musician perched on a stool in the corner strummed his guitar and crooned out an acoustic version of the latest Jason Mraz song.

  Though fall, the weather was still mild enough that I felt confident there’d be a good crowd. I’d dressed classier than I usually did, with a denim knee-length pencil skirt, burgundy kitten heels and a taupe silk blouse (unbuttoned just a bit too far, of course).

  What can I say... you have to change the bait depending on what you’re hoping to get nibbling on the hook.

  I arrived and quickly found a parking spot down a side street where the security lighting was dim enough to provide me some snacking privacy. Plan ahead and leave no witnesses, that’s the Vampy Camp motto I’m told.

  Inside the restaurant, I surveyed the scene. The vibe was relaxed on the surface, but underlying that was a layer of snobbery and old money, but it didn’t bother me one bit. I wasn’t there to impress a damned soul, just stopping in for a quick bite (pun intended) before carrying on with my life, so to speak.

  I ordered a glass of merlot at the bar and carried my drink through the double-glass doors to where most of the patrons had migrated. Just as I suspected, the real action was on the deck. The problem was, everyone was paired off or clustered in groups, which left me squarely in the realm of an outsider.

  I did the only thing I could and picked a chair on the edge of the crowd, took a seat and crossed my legs slowly while gazing out over the water, like I was fascinated by the way the moonlight shimmered on the ever-flowing tide.

  Call it the art of dating, the rules of hooking-up or whatever you’d like—when faced with looking like a desperate bimbo, make yourself seem uninterested and lost in your own thoughts. The jackals will start circling forthwith.

  And circle they did, only none of the interested men were anywhere close to what I’d hoped to land that evening. After I’d politely declined drink offers from two of them, and suffered through ten minutes of awkward conversation with another, I was thinking the night might be a bust.

  I frowned, knowing I’d have to settle for dragging a drunk behind one of the parked cars as he stumbled around blindly after closing time. That would just suck and make me feel even more desperate than I already was. Why couldn’t I be a classy Vamp, dammit?

  Sighing, I sipped my merlot and settled for watching the tide push at the marsh grass.

  “Is this seat taken?” a small voice said over my shoulder.

  I turned to find a woman looking at me expectantly.

  “No, help yourself.” I assumed she wanted to take the chair over to one of the clusters, but instead she sat down next to me and sipped her drink.

  When I looked up at her, she smiled tentatively and wiggled in her chair.

  “Smart play,” I said.

  Her brow creased, “I’m not sure...”

  “Sitting together... we’re not easy targets anymore,” I joked.

  As if on cue, we watched another random guy walk in our direction, only to falter as he tried to decide which of us was the easier mark. Apparently, neither of us looked promising because he swerved and went back inside the bar.

  My new companion laughed, light and genuine.

  “I’m Alicia,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “Claire,” I noticed how soft and warm her skin was.

  I was intrigued. She was petite, about six inched shorter than I was, curvy in all the right places, friendly... and as a bonus, she reeked of goodness.

  I wondered which team she played for.

  True, she’d approached me, but maybe it was just a defense mechanism—like horses banding together when two stallions fought over who had the right to knock up all the mares.

  She sipped her drink nervously, set it down on the nearby railing, and then picked it back up again. I watched her do that several times before I took pity on her and finally started and actual conversation.

  “So how should we do this?” I said.

  “Do what?” Alicia looked like a deer caught in some schmuck’s headlights.

  “Make small talk. Get to know each other...twenty questions?” I tapped out a brick from my shields and tried to project calm, comfortable thoughts in her direction. Maybe it worked, because the next hour I spent getting to know her on some crazy cosmic level.

  She was younger than me, by just a few years though. She liked to read—mostly literary novels with the occasional epic fantasy thrown in the mix. Her favorite television shows were The Big Bang Theory and Grey’s. Her ipod housed such gems as Something to Talk About, D’yer Maker and Sweet Home Alabama. She taught Creative Writing at the local community college, did her civic duty every election day, and dreamed of traveling the world as a photojournalist.

  The most interesting thing I noticed about her was that she was very comfortable around me. Her hand brushed mine several times, she patted my shoulder every time we laughed about something, and she even brushed a stray bit of hair from my face at one point. I didn’t think I read it wrong—she was giving me the vibe.

  Or at least I think so, but who the hell knew really. My sol
e experience with that sort of thing was with Bette, and she was the picture of unconventionality. I decided it was time to test the theory.

  “Bathroom break,” I stood and smiled, hoping she’d come with me.

  She did.

  As we entered the small powder room, I slid the bolt on the outer door and took Alicia’s hand in mine, pulling her closer to me. She sighed and bit her lip, making my belly flip-flop with anticipation. Yes, I’d read her correctly for sure.

  I cupped the back of her head in one hand and stoked her cheek with the other.

  “Lovely,” I said, bending tentatively to kiss her lightly.

  Her lips parted, accepting the kiss. Her hand arms wrapped around me, pulling me in closer so that our bodies touched, my breasts slightly above hers. I reached around her, hiking up her skirt until my palms found purchase on her tight, round ass.

  She let out a raspy breath and pulled her head back, just enough to see what she was doing to the buttons on my blouse. In mere seconds she had my shirt off and I caught a glimpse of us in the bathroom mirror. She was way over dressed, I decided.

  I unzipped her skirt and let it drop to the floor. Her light-weight sweater followed, and she stood before me breathing hard, wearing the cutest black bra and matching lace panties.

  My fangs twitched in anticipation at the sight.

  I moved in to kiss her and she pushed me away, pointing at my skirt and shaking her finger at me.

  “Off,” she rasped.

  I complied of course, leaving my heels on and she flushed at seeing me half naked. I won’t lie and say that didn’t make a gal feel good about herself. Even vampires get insecure every now and then.

  I approached her slowly, almost stalking her, before pouncing. I turned her around, facing away from me, before pulling her into an embrace. The swell of her ass pushed into my crotch and I felt the unfamiliar pangs of desire shoot through my abdomen, like little lightning bolts to my snatch. How I’d missed that feeling.

  I kissed her shoulder, ran my lips over her smooth, youthful skin. I cupped her breasts, pushing the thin fabric out of the way so I could feel the full weight of them in my hands. Her nipples hardened into little pebbles and I wanted to feel my tongue flicking over them... but I couldn’t think that far ahead.