Everything stopped at that moment. The constant incredible din of the place. The continuous movement. The ever-present sense of urgency. It all stopped. Everyone stood in place, pivoted to get a better look, and stared. Suddenly I could take a breath. A sense of icy expectancy flowed over me, her shaman essence, her healing. My skin tightened into taut peaks by the power that wafted around the vamp, power that smelled of ozone and earth, a lightning storm in the jungle. Beast settled onto her haunches, quiet.
Bruiser stood in the entrance, the glass doors to the ambulance ramp open behind him, Bethany's hand in the crook of his arm. Bruiser was wearing jeans and an open-neck shirt. Bethany was wearing a full-skirted crimson tribal outfit, her head swathed in an orange turban, an orange shawl over one shoulder. Gold hoops dangled from her ears and a necklace of heavy gold links circled her neck. Her feet were bare. And she was fully vamped out.
The young cop beside me pulled his weapon, but before he could raise it to fire, his partner put out a restraining hand and looked at me. He was human, about five-ten, late forties, a sergeant by his stripes. His partner looked young, still wet behind the ears. And the plainclothes guy, Ferguson, was mid-fifties. Experienced. Canny. He looked from Bethany to me and put things together as his eyes darkened.
"The victim. She's a witch, isn't she?" the detective said. I nodded and Ferguson's mouth curled into a faint sneer. The scent of fear and hatred started to ooze from his pores. He was a closet witch hater. Maybe not so much closet. His voice dropped lower. "And you didn't think it important to tell us all that? Wasting our time with witch shit?"
"Children aren't shit," I growled. He took a step back. The younger cop struggled with his partner to draw his gun, eyes switching from Bethany in the doorway, to the closer threat, me. I curled my hands into fists to keep from clawing out. "You telling me that you wouldn't have issued an AMBER Alert for two kidnapped children if their mother was a witch? That you'd take a chance on waiting?"
"Witch politics," Ferguson spat. "Their kids aren't the concern of normal humans. And that?" He jutted his chin at Bethany, still in the doorway. "They should all be staked."
In an eyeblink Bethany had crossed the floor and taken the detective into an embrace. It looked like a lover's touch, carnal, possessive, one hand at his back, the other holding his head. Her fangs braced at his throat. He struggled for a single heartbeat and went still. I shivered in the cold, dry hospital air, sweat chilling on my skin. I had never seen a human forced under by a vamp. They could mesmerize, but not without eye contact. Not without time to establish control. This was fast. And freaky. And illegal. And deadly.
Bethany licked along Ferguson's throat, her tongue moving between her spiked canines. She breathed in his scent and closed her eyes in what looked like sexual ecstasy. The detective groaned in her arms, aroused, stoned to the gills. He sighed happily and slid an arm around his captor, nuzzling close.
As if she couldn't hear him, the young cop hissed, "We got to stop her, Sarge. She's gonna kill him."
I spared the older cop a glance. "Probably not. But if you can't control your partner, he might end up dead." I heard a brief struggle as I turned back to Bethany.
She smelled the detective the way Beast smelled a fresh kill, short snuffling sniffs and long drafts of air. She moaned softly, and the sound raised the hairs on the back of my neck. George moved slowly toward her, adjusting his angle so she would see his approach while he was several feet away. "Bethy, love. He's not a danger to you. He isn't food."
"It would let children be stolen," she said, her breath on the neck of her prey. "It would let them die, like my babies died." She lifted her head to Ferguson's eyes. "Speak the truth, human creature. You have let missing children go without searching for them, yes? You would let these children die?"
He sighed and smiled, stoned on vamp power. "Witch kids. Not human."
Bethany said, "Some would call me witch and cursed. You would let my children die?"
"Let 'em die. Ain't natural." He giggled softly. "Stake you. Gut you. Cut off your head."
Bethany smiled, then looked at the cop in her arms, her eyes claiming his will. He shuddered along the length of his body as if she shook him. "You will no longer desire to stake the cursed. You will love us. Desire us. You will work to help and to find all children. Speak to this, human."
His eyelids fluttered. "Wiiii. . . . Will help. . . ." He licked his lips. "Always." His hands rose and he stroked her face. "Please? Now . . . ? Please."
"Good." Bethany patted his face. "This is good." She struck, her fangs slicing into his carotid so fast I didn't see them penetrate. Her lips formed a seal, the suction of her mouth hard. A single drop of blood teared at the corner of her lips. Five long seconds later, she released him and Ferguson slid to the floor, his neck wounds closed and only a smear of blood to show where he had been a meal. "The human will live. It will allow no more children to die."
"Shit. Shitshitshitshit," the younger cop said. "Sarge--?"
"Shut up, Micky. Shut up and go to the unit. Don't do anything. Just sit there."