Blood Secrets

fourteen



“NOW, THAT’S JUST F*ckING CREEPY,” FREDDY HAVER said. “How can you trap a soul in a doll?”

“I don’t know.” Alex ground her fingertips into her closed eyes until sparks invaded the darkness in which she was confined. “But that’s what I saw. Once the dolls were broken, the souls within were released, and the Dollmaker was seriously pissed off.”

Varik had finally made his way into the mobile lab, and they were discussing Freddy’s and Reyes’s findings on the doll left with Mindy Johnson’s car, as well as other evidence. Morgan had thankfully gone back inside the Municipal Center.

Alex sighed and rapidly blinked her eyes. The star-bursts cleared from her vision, leaving an unending darkness in their wake. She squinted and slowly looked from side to side. The inky blackness remained unchanged.

Sandalwood and cinnamon washed over her along with the rustle of clothing as Varik shifted beside her. Are you all right? Is the pain getting worse?

His thoughts slipped easily into her mind. She frowned and once again covered her eyes with her sunglasses. Ever since she’d pursued the shadow entity into the Shadowlands, the blood-bond had been harder to seal. She was now developing a headache from attempting to keep her mental shields clamped tight enough to prevent Varik’s thoughts from trickling over into her own, and it wasn’t working.

Plus, she was still pissed at him for not telling her about his past relationship with Morgan. Not telling her about Edward she understood, but failing to mention the woman whose investigation could be the deciding factor in whether Alex lived or died—that was inexcusable. I’m fine, she replied. Just a headache.

“If he is trapping souls, why do it?” Freddy asked, drawing their attention. “What would be the point?”

“Blood substitute,” Reyes answered from across the lab. “Think about it. As vampires we don’t physically need to feed on blood to survive. It’s the residual psychic energy in the blood that we really need. If you could trap a soul, or even a portion of one, and then find a way to feed off that energy, you could theoretically sustain yourself on it and forgo the need for blood.”

“But we crave the taste of blood,” Alex countered. “It’s why Vlad’s Tears were invented, to curb our blood-hunger between feedings.”

“True,” Reyes said. “However, you’re forgetting that blood-hunger for us is similar to a human craving nicotine. It’s a form of addiction and most addictions can be broken with time, training, and practice.”

“So if the Dollmaker is trapping souls, and if he’s found a way to feed off those souls, why do it at all?” Varik asked. “Like Reyes said, blood-hunger is an addiction. Why break the addiction in favor of something as elaborate as soul trapping?”

“Maybe something happened and he can’t feed normally,” Freddy offered. “Alex, during your encounter with him, did you notice if he still had fangs or had them filed down?”

The image of the Dollmaker screaming in rage as he charged toward her and her father drifted before Alex in the black sea of her vision. “He still had fangs.” She shuddered. “I think whatever made him start trapping souls wasn’t a physical problem. I think it may be psychological.”

“What do you mean?” Varik asked.

Alex sighed and drummed her fingers on top of the workstation at which she sat. “He’s a collector. Yes, he makes these dolls, but the dolls themselves aren’t that important to him. If they were, he wouldn’t have given up even one of them. The dolls are vessels. It’s the souls that matter. He’s collecting them so there has to be a reason for it, something beyond just feeding off the residual energy.” She stopped drumming her fingers. “Reyes, the doll left with Mindy’s car, was it damaged in some way?”

“Yeah, a hairline fracture in the back of the porcelain head,” he answered. “It was partially obscured by the wig but I noticed one tail end of it along the neck where the head joins the body.”

“So the doll was damaged and no longer capable of containing a soul,” Freddy said.

“That would be my guess.” Alex stifled a yawn. The lack of sleep from the previous night was starting to catch up to her. She propped her chin on the palm of her hand and rested her elbow on the workstation. “Porcelain heads and bodies made of human skin aren’t easy to make. He’s not doing it in a weekend. He’s taking his time with them.”

“Maybe he takes his time with the victims as well,” Varik said. “If preserving a soul is that important to him, he’d probably want to spend time with the victim.”

“It’s possible.” Alex’s eyes drooped and closed behind her sunglasses. Sleep tugged at her consciousness and made her body feel heavy. “We should call Doc Hancock and ask if he’s finished the autopsy on our Jane Doe from the salvage yard. If we can establish an identity and time of death, I think—”

“I think it’s probably best if we take a break and grab some food,” Varik interrupted. “We’re all hungry. I’ve heard Freddy’s stomach grumbling for the past ten minutes. We can pick this up in an hour or two.”

For once, Alex didn’t argue. She was tired but as soon as he mentioned food, her stomach rumbled to remind her she hadn’t eaten since that morning. She reluctantly allowed Varik to help her to her feet and guide her down the steps of the mobile lab. The November air was much colder now than when they arrived and she leaned into him for added warmth as they traversed the parking lot in silence.

They slowed and she assumed they were close to Varik’s Corvette.

Varik sighed. “Alex, I’m sorry about earlier, with Morgan. I should’ve told you about our past relationship when you told me she was coming here.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t. We were on-scene and with everything that happened afterward—I don’t know what you want me to say, Alex. You expect me to be either some squeaky-clean schoolboy without a past or to bare my soul to you and fill you in on all the dirty, gory details. Well, I’m not and I can’t.”

“I know you have a past, Varik, and it’s trying to kill me.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“Fair?” she scoffed. “You want to talk about what’s fair? You keep saying I should tell you everything because we’re bond-mates, but you’re not willing to do the same. And you wonder why I have a hard time trusting you?”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” she shouted. “I hear that a lot, too, but ever since you showed up I’ve been shot, beaten up, possessed, and blinded, and yet you haven’t offered one single scrap of evidence that suggests I need protection from anything other than you!”

Her voice echoed across the parking lot, and Alex realized what she’d said. She reached for him, clutching at his shirt. “Varik, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

She expected him to shy away but he took both her hands in his and pulled her into an embrace. “Yes, you did.”

She shook her head. “No, I—”

He silenced her with a kiss.

Alex returned the kiss, pressing herself to him as if she could take back her words and soothe the pain she’d inflicted in a single act.

Varik broke the kiss and touched his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

When she tried to protest, he touched a finger to her lips.

“I haven’t been completely honest with you about my past, about Morgan, about Edward—a lot of things—but baby, you have to understand. There are people in my past who wouldn’t hesitate to use you to get to me. I have to keep some secrets because I have to keep you safe.” He wrapped her in his arms once more. “I nearly went insane when Edward died. The thought of losing you …”

“I understand,” she murmured. “And I’m sorry I said all those things.”

“They needed to be said.”

Alex tightened her hold. “That’s no excuse though.”

He peeled away from her. “Perhaps not but let’s put it behind us for now and go have lunch. I’m starving.”

She couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

They reached his Corvette, and he assisted her with settling into the passenger seat before closing the door.

“Excuse me, sir,” a man’s muffled voice materialized outside. “My battery seems to be dead. You wouldn’t happen to have any jumper cables, would you?”

Alex frowned. Alarm bells sounded in her head. Something about the voice sounded familiar.

“Uh, yeah,” Varik responded warily. “I have a set in the trunk.”

She heard the two move away from her door, their voices growing fainter. A weak odor filtered into the car, wrinkling her nose. She inhaled, trying to place the scent.

Leather and old blood.

“Varik!” she called. She managed to open the door as the sounds of a struggle arose from the rear of the car. “It’s him! It’s the Dollmaker!”

Something heavy slammed into the car beside her, knocking Alex from her feet. The back of her head banged painfully against the window as she fell. She heard the sound of flesh striking flesh, a series of loud grunts, and then silence except for one person’s heavy breathing and her own heartbeat.

“Varik?” she said softly, inwardly cursing the blindness that still afflicted her. “What’s happening?”

She heard someone kneel in front of her. The smell of leather and old blood covered her.

“Hello, chickie,” the Dollmaker whispered. A rough hand grabbed her arm, and she felt a sharp pinprick in her wrist.

She fought to free herself as the drug he’d injected rushed through her body. Whatever he’d given her worked rapidly, as her movements slowed and her words slurred. “What have you done to Varik?”

“Put him out of his misery.” He hauled her to her feet. “And now you’re going to be mine. Forever.”

Tasha groaned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she sat up. She yawned and blinked against the sunlight filtering through the west-facing windows of her bedroom. Squinting against the light, she tried to reason why the sun was rising in the west.

“Shit,” she hissed and then moaned as her head thumped with pain and her stomach lurched. She rolled from the bed, grabbing for any nearby clothing. “I’m such a f*cking idiot.”

“Something wrong, Mama?”

Tasha screamed, dropping the clothes she gathered, and patted her hip, reaching for a sidearm that wasn’t present. She backed up against the closet door, staring at the obviously amused—and naked—man in her bed. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

He chuckled and stretched, thick corded muscles rippling under dark skin. “If you don’t remember that, then I did not do my job right last night.”

“Last night?” Tasha scratched her head.

She remembered going to the Duck ’n’ Cover last night to meet someone who never showed. Dinky had supplied her with Bayou Bombs—the thought of which made Tasha’s stomach somersault—and there was a band. “Rueben.”

He grinned. “Ah, so you do remember. I don’t think my ego could take it if you didn’t.”

A draft blew across her bare legs. She looked down and cursed, grabbing a short satin robe from the closet doorknob and slipping it on to cover her nakedness. Another glance at the windows made her groan. “I am so f*cking fired.”

“No, you’re not.”

Tasha frowned at Rueben as she tied her robe. “What do you mean by that and can you please cover yourself?”

Rueben pushed himself up, leaned against the headboard, and draped a corner of her comforter over his lap. “Someone called here looking for you this morning. I told them you were sick and couldn’t make it in today.”

“And they believed you?”

He laughed. “Yes. Would you have preferred I told them you were passed out in an alcohol-induced sexual stupor?”

“Absolutely not!” Tasha hugged herself and sat on the edge of the bed. “Did they want to know who you were?”

“I told them I was a friend and you’d asked me to come over to take care of you.”

Tasha hid her face in her hands, silently cursing her stupidity. How could she let herself get so drunk she brought home a strange man, had sex with him, and then failed to report to work the next day? Tears pressed against her closed eyes and she could no longer hold them back.

“Whoa, hold on,” Rueben said behind her. “What did I say?”

Deep sobs racked her body and she was unable to speak.

“Hey, if it was what I said about the sex, I was joking. I didn’t touch you. I swear.”

“What?” Tasha asked, looking over her shoulder.

He shrugged and offered her a lopsided smile. “It was a joke. We had such a good time last night joking around I didn’t think you’d think I was serious.”

She used the hem of one sleeve to wipe her eyes and shifted her position so she could see him without craning her neck.

He skimmed a hand over his bald head. “The truth is that I drove you home because you didn’t need to drive yourself. You got sick as soon as we got inside the house and passed out. I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

Her gaze dropped to his bare chest and his own followed.

“Did I mention you got sick on me?”

Tasha whimpered and hid her face again.

Rueben chuckled and pulled her hands away. “I got you in bed, washed my clothes, and took a shower. I lay down here with you so I could keep an eye on you and must have fallen asleep. I swear I never laid a hand on you for any other reason.”

Staring into his coal black eyes, Tasha believed him. Snippets of their conversation at the bar were coming back to her. He’d kept her company in between sets with the band while she waited for—

She jumped to her feet and began searching through the pile of clothing on the floor. “Where is it?” she muttered, turning pockets inside out. “No, no, no … come on … be here …”

“What’s wrong?” Rueben asked from the bed.

“I had a journal, a little pink leather-bound book, last night. I have to find it.”

“I didn’t see a book.”

Tasha stopped her search and stared at him.

“I’m sorry, but I think I would’ve seen a book.”

Fear and guilt slithered up her spine like twin snakes and she collapsed on the bed. As soon as it was discovered that she was the one who’d stolen the journal from the lab, her career would be over.

Without the journal, her mystery callers were bound to withdraw their offer of assistance. Without their assistance, she couldn’t fight Caleb.

And she’d lose Maya.

Kirk was f*cked and he knew it. He’d let Piper get away. Now he had to find the bitch before she went to the cops and told them everything about his operation.

He parked his silver Porsche down the street from her apartment, making sure he had a good view of the exit. When she left, he’d follow her, and when the time was right, he’d swoop in and grab her. The scenario that would follow played out in his head like a movie scene. He’d take her somewhere secluded, f*ck her until she begged him to kill her, and then he’d f*ck her some more. Only when he was satisfied he’d had her every way he could imagine, then he’d drain her dry and leave her battered corpse for the birds.

A car approached the entrance of the apartment complex and he tensed for a moment, but it wasn’t Piper. He sighed and picked up the small Thermos beside him. The mixture of blood and vodka burned his throat as he swallowed. Images of the fight he’d had with Piper, seen from above and intensified by the alcohol, flitted through his mind and he shuddered.

It’d been a shame to kill the new bunny—Jennifer, wasn’t that her name?—and leave her body behind an abandoned hardware store, but she’d seen and heard too much after Piper’s outburst. At least her blood was useful. He capped the Thermos as he settled in his seat to wait with the lingering taste of blood coating his tongue.

His thoughts once more turned to his plans for Piper. Anticipation made his dick hard and had him squirming in his seat. He’d need to be careful and not kill her too quickly. He’d made that mistake in the past and the satisfaction hadn’t been nearly as intense as he’d hoped.

No one turned on Kirk Beljean and lived. No one.

Another car approached the complex’s entrance and he perked up. A white Nissan Sentra paused at the entrance as a garbage truck passed and then turned right, heading up the street and away from Kirk.

“Gotcha, bitch,” he muttered and started the Porsche’s engine. He waited until the Nissan had reached the stop sign at the other end of the street, left turn signal winking like a spasmodic eye, before he steered his car onto the street and into pursuit.

He paused at the stop sign long enough to see Piper’s car turning right down another street. The Porsche lurched forward and tires squealed as he took the next turn a little too fast.

Keeping the Nissan in sight, he followed at a safe distance so as not to spook the driver, but after several more turns onto side streets, Kirk frowned. The route the Nissan carved through the town was taking them farther into downtown Jefferson.

“Where the f*ck are you going?” he asked. Realization hit him when he caught a glimpse of the Nassau County Municipal Center’s roofline, now only blocks away. “F*cking goddamn bitch! You are so f*cking dead!”

He couldn’t allow her to reach the Center and the police. A train’s horn sounded in the distance and he grinned. The railroad tracks were between their current position and the Municipal Center. If the timing was right, he could use the delay caused by the train to his advantage. His foot pressed the gas pedal to the floor and the Porsche shot forward.

Kirk whooped as warning bells combined with a blast of a train’s horn. Red-and-white-striped barriers lowered across the road, trapping Piper’s car between an eighteen-wheeler semi and his Porsche. He skidded to a stop behind the Nissan, angling his vehicle to cut off her escape route.

Jumping from the car, he could see the panic on Piper’s face that increased to horror when he reached the driver’s-side door and lifted the handle.

It didn’t budge. She’d locked the damn thing.

“Open this goddamn door, bitch!” He could hear her sobs even over the noise of the passing train as she fumbled with her cell phone. Rage and impatience overrode his senses. His fist connected with the window, shattering it and releasing Piper’s high-pitched screams. “Com’ere, you f*cking whore!”

“Hey!” a man shouted from nearby. “Get your hands off the lady, mister!”

Snarling in fury, Kirk whirled toward the voice, to find the truck driver slowly approaching from the rear of his rig with a .22-caliber revolver already drawn and aimed at Kirk. “F*ck off.”

“Step away from the car,” the truck driver ordered.

“If you insist.” Kirk leapt over the Nissan’s hood. Gunfire echoed off the surrounding buildings. He roared in pain as a bullet grazed his ribs. He reached the driver, knocked the revolver aside, and wrapped his hand around the man’s throat.

The force of the impact knocked the smaller driver into the back of his rig. Kirk held him suspended by the throat with his feet frantically searching for the ground inches below. Soft tissue collapsed beneath the increasing pressure he applied to the driver’s throat until he heard a pop and the man ceased to struggle.

Kirk dropped the driver and he collapsed in a heap. Turning back to Piper’s car, he growled when he saw the open door and the empty driver’s seat. More angry shouts rang out from farther up the street and sirens sounded in the distance.

He picked up the driver’s revolver and darted for his car. The pain intensified with his movements. Wincing and clutching his side, he slid behind the Porsche’s steering wheel and jammed the car into reverse. Seconds later he was rocketing through the downtown streets, heading for the one person who might offer him sanctuary.

He just had to convince her it was in her best interests to do so if she wanted to live.

* * *

The fading vestiges of daylight pierced the remainder of the alcohol-induced fog that veiled Tasha’s mind. She rubbed her temple, trying to ease the ache in her head, and focused on Varik Baudelaire as he stood—battered and bruised—on the steps in front of Jefferson PD and described a vampire known only as The Dollmaker.

“He’s approximately six feet, four inches tall,” Varik announced in a hoarse voice. The line of bruises around his neck was plainly visible even in the dim light. A cut on his right cheek had been stitched closed and dark bruises ringed both eyes. “Short blond hair, blue eyes that turn a very pale yellow.” He paused and swallowed, wincing, before addressing the vampires standing to one side of the gathered crowd of officers. “Enforcers, be advised, the Dollmaker has a scent similar to leather and old blood.”

A murmur passed among the human officers and Tasha shuddered. She’d known all vampires had a particular scent that was unique to each individual but it wasn’t common knowledge. Despite four decades of living openly, vampires were still a secretive lot and information regarding them was often hard to obtain. The fact that the FBPI was sharing this much information with humans underscored the gravity of what had transpired in the past few hours.

“Enforcer Sabian—” Varik’s broken voice fractured even more, forcing him to pause yet again. “Enforcer Sabian was abducted—” He stopped, and when he attempted to speak again, no words came forth.

Damian Alberez stepped forward, laid a hand on Varik’s shoulder, and Varik turned away, unable to continue with the briefing. Damian’s dark eyes swept the crowd as he picked up where Varik faltered. “Enforcer Sabian was abducted at approximately fifteen hundred hours, or three p.m., local time. That was almost five hours ago. I know most of you have worked through the day on other assignments and I know you’re tired. Despite what you may have heard about events of weeks prior, Enforcer Sabian is a federal agent. She’s one of us. Let’s bring her home.”

The crowd dispersed, with the Enforcers gathering around Damian, who appeared to be issuing additional instructions. The human officers moved away in pairs or small groups. Those who’d been working through the day gave the new arrivals a brief rundown of the events. All officers had been called in for the search, even Tasha, despite her status on the sick roster.

Still trying to massage away the pain in her temples, Tasha entered the deserted Municipal Center lobby and strode toward the wing housing the Jefferson Police Department. A rush of air and noise signaled that someone had entered behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Varik limping toward her.

“We need to talk,” he croaked.

Tasha didn’t respond and entered the JPD offices, breathing in the smells of stale coffee, gun oil, and sweat as she passed through the rows of empty desks on her way to the employee break room.

“Where the hell were you earlier today?” Varik’s ragged voice carried an edge of anger that quickened her pace.

“Sick.”

“I left messages for you to meet Alex and me at the mobile lab.”

Tasha reached the break room and rounded on him. She braced one hand against the doorjamb to keep from falling over as the world suddenly spun at a much faster rate than normal. “And I told you I was sick. It happens to humans from time to time. We’re not as robust as your kind.”

“You should’ve been there.”

“I’m not some rookie you can jerk around from one place to the other, or threaten, for that matter.”

Varik shoved her inside and closed the door behind him.

“Get your grubby hands off me!” Tasha pulled free of him. “Goddamn vamps think you can just barge in whenever the hell you feel like it and manhandle people—”

Varik clutched her shoulder, yanked her from her feet, and slammed her into the door. Fury twisted his face into a dark mask. “I haven’t begun to manhandle you, Lieutenant,” he growled, fangs flashing as he spoke. “Alex is gone, abducted by the Dollmaker, and if you’d been where you were supposed to be, it might not have happened.”

“You are not going to pin this shit on me.” She tried to push him away but she might as well have been trying to move a brick wall. Human strength was no match against a pissed-off vampire. “What happened to Alex isn’t my fault.”

“I ask you again: where were you?” His dark chocolate eyes became two kaleidoscopic maelstroms as they shifted from brown to gold.

Tasha’s stomach churned violently. She gagged and he released her. She ran to the sink, expecting to heave the contents of her stomach into it, but nothing came forth. Once the nausea had passed, she splashed cool water on her face, praying that Varik would be gone when she turned around.

He still stood in front of the closed door, arms folded over his chest and glaring at her.

She returned his hostile stare, trying not to wince at the extent of his injuries. The limp he now sported was the result of a savage kick to his leg that had dislocated his right knee.

When the Dollmaker took Alex, he attacked Varik first, using the ruse of a stranded motorist to move in close. Once Varik’s guard was down, he’d severely beaten the Enforcer and then wrapped Varik’s own jumper cables around his neck, choking him into unconsciousness. The cables had been left tied around Varik’s neck, slowly stealing his breath. If Freddy and Reyes hadn’t found him, drawn out of the lab by Alex’s screams, he would’ve died. He’d been very lucky.

Although, looking at him now, Tasha was certain he didn’t consider himself so.

“You could’ve helped save her,” he whispered. “Why weren’t you there?”

Tasha held his gaze for a moment and then looked away. The memory of finding Rueben naked in her bed zipped through her mind like a movie. “It was a personal matter.”

“That is the best answer you can give me?”

“It’s the only one you’re going to get.”

“When you compromised evidence by giving it to Sheriff Manser—”

Tasha shuffled her feet and frowned, avoiding eye contact.

“—Alex covered your ass. I covered your ass.” He stalked toward her, hands clenching into fists. “Now Alex is in trouble, and you’re going to stand there and play these stupid games?”

“I answered your question.” She backed away from him until her shoulders bumped into a corner. “You can threaten me all you want, but you should know by now, I don’t respond well to threats.”

He leaned in close so his face was only inches from hers. “And I don’t respond well to losing people I care about.”

The door opened and Damian Alberez’s hulking form entered the break room. His dark eyes swept the scene as he placed his hands on his hips. “Is there a problem in here?”

Varik fell back a few steps but never looked away from Tasha. “No, no problem, just a misunderstanding. Right, Lieutenant?”

Tasha remained silent.

Damian grunted. “If you’re finished correcting it, the medical examiner has the report on the Jane Doe from the salvage yard.”

“On my way.”

“Lieutenant.”

Tasha glanced at Damian.

“Someone needs to follow up with the owner of the property next to the salvage yard. You’re it.”

“Whatever.”

Damian shot Varik a final parting glare and left.

Varik turned to follow but paused in the doorway. “This isn’t over between us, Lieutenant. Far from it.”

Tasha listened to his retreating footsteps as he limped down the hall toward the central office area. Her ears rang in the ensuing silence, and she struggled to control the hatred growing in her heart. Shaking like a rookie hyped on adrenaline, she vowed she would no longer allow herself to be pushed around by vampires.

Varik scared her, especially now that Alex had been abducted, but what frightened her even more was the prospect of people discovering where Tasha had been: drunk and in bed with a man whose last name she didn’t know.

Just like your f*cking mother, the nagging voice in her head taunted. How long did she wait after your father split to shack up with someone? One week? Two? You’re just as pathetic as she was.

Tasha bolted from the room, trying to outdistance the voice that sought to break her spirit and drove the self-destructive thirst building within her.

“Lieutenant,” a woman’s voice called from the hallway behind her.

Tasha stopped and glared at Morgan as the vampire approached. “What is it, SI Dreyer? I’m in a hurry.”

“Running from the ghosts of your conversation with Director Baudelaire?”

Tasha tensed. “Excuse me?”

“I couldn’t help but overhear what Director Baudelaire said to you, specifically the threats.” Morgan slipped her hands into the pockets of her tailored designer slacks. “Such behavior is unbecoming for someone of his rank. If you’d like to file a formal complaint, I can see that it receives the appropriate attention at FBPI headquarters.”

“Wouldn’t that start an inquiry against him?”

“It’s possible, depending on the severity of his threats and if he’s made any against you in the past.” She shrugged. “Just something to think about,” she said as she sauntered past.

Tasha replayed in her mind her encounter with Varik, absently rubbing her shoulder where he’d grabbed her. “Ah, hell,” she muttered to herself then raised her voice. “SI Dreyer?”

Morgan stopped at the end of the hall and half turned toward her.

“I think I’d like to file that complaint.”

As Morgan strode back down the hall, her smile wide enough to show her fangs, Tasha couldn’t help but think she’d just made a deal with the devil.