Page 17 of First Blood
“You’re assuming I have more questions for you,” he retorted, his pretty lips twisting into something ugly. “Maybe I already know all I want to about you. You’re a vampire, you’ve been stalking me, and you’re rich enough to pay for my blood. What else could possibly matter to me?”
For a moment I couldn’t move. My gut hurt, a deep, heavy ache with a sharp edge to it that felt like the last time someone had stabbed me.
And then I rolled off the bed, managing to make the landing without sprawling all over the floor. I bent and shoved my boots on, the laces a hopeless tangle — but I had to get out of there before I said or did something I’d regret.
Like letting him see how hard that had hit me.
Behind me, Laurie stayed silent. Waiting for me to lash out? I didn’t know, and I couldn’t risk turning to look to see if he was afraid, or furious, or pitying.
“Keep the coat,” I managed to say. “Maybe it’ll keep you from dying of hypothermia.”
And I walked out the door, wrenching it open hard enough to nearly pull it off the hinges and then shutting it a lot more carefully behind me, cursing under my breath all the while. I stamped into the stairwell and started to thud my way down.
Laurie had the right to want nothing more to do with me than a weekly feeding. And he had the right to tell me that in any terms he chose.
And I had the right to hate it, damn it, even though I knew it was better for me as well as for him. I’d come too close tonight to taking what I really wanted, what he’d even offered me, and not just what I’d paid for.
I stopped dead. I’d forgotten to pay him.
I stamped my way back up, pulling out my wallet as I did. The gap under his door was big enough to fit my hand, because the whole fucking building ought to have been condemned, and I shoved a stack of five hundreds through easily. A flurry of sound came through the door: a rustle and thump, quick footsteps, and Laurie’s voice crying, “Victor, wait!”
I didn’t wait. I turned, went down the stairs, and didn’t look back.
Chapter 7
Taken
There was no way in hell I was going back to see him before the week was up. Seven days, and then I’d go to his apartment, feed moderately, calmly make sure he was safe in bed, and leave.
Very easy in theory.
Very difficult in practice. Maybe he’d spotted me on the fire escape, but there were other hiding places along the block. I could scope it out during the day.
But no. No way in hell.
Three nights later, I was in the alley again. Quietly, this time.Creature of the night, Victor. I gritted my teeth and tried to tiptoe, and the muffling snow helped a lot. I had a new coat, exactly the same as the old one only minus the claw-patterned tears. It only flapped a little.
Fuck it, the whoosh of car tires on slush from the street would cover it as long as I didn’t curse or rattle anything.
It didn’t matter, though, because Laurie wasn’t there.
It was a little early for him to have a customer, but it was also at least an hour after he usually took up position. Frowning, I leaned against the damp brick wall and settled in to wait.
Fifteen minutes later, he still hadn’t made an appearance.
Half an hour after that, and I was officially fucking worried.
I jogged out of the alley on the opposite side, heading for his apartment. Pounding on the door and calling his name didn’t get me anything. Would he sit there perfectly still and silent, hoping I’d go away? I doubted it. I couldn’t smell him, but with the cacophony of stenches in the hallway, I probably couldn’t have smelled a gnome.
He could be sick and unconscious. He could’ve been injured on the job, or hit by a car during the day.
I kicked the door in and burst inside, fists raised and adrenaline pumping, ready to kill someone if necessary.
There was no one there. And he’d left my coat, which lay across his bed, doubling as an extra blanket. My chest clenched. Pissed or not, hurt or not, I should’ve fucking done something more for him than give him a goddamn torn coat. Had a feather comforter delivered. Looked into battery-powered space heaters. Eviscerated his landlord with my bare hands.
I prowled the apartment, looking for anything to tell me where he’d gone, hoping for a sign that he’d gone anywhere other than down to the street to stand under his streetlight, hours ago now. A single mug sat on the counter. It wasn’t warm anymore, but the little bit of broth clinging to the bottom of it smelled fresh. An empty instant noodles packet sat in the trash.
All signs pointed to Laurie having followed his usual routine.
