Even when she had killed, the victims had been woman-abusing scumbags and child molesters who deserved to die. Now, that gave her a high.
Unfortunately, she rarely dined on scumbags anymore. They had a tendency to drink or do drugs, and ingesting either left her dizzy for days. Smokers were the worst; their blood tasted nasty and gave her migraines.
Her intended victim tucked his hands in his coat pockets and watched the traffic light two blocks away, probably expecting a ride. He looked as if he might be heading to one of the upscale Manhattan hangouts where the electric-blue drinks cost more than she’d made in an entire month as a human nurse.
Nancy smiled and moved toward him, let her hips sway in her tight hunting dress, the classy red one that showed lots of skin and attracted both men and women. She’d changed out of her scrubs before she left the hospital, as per policy, though she didn’t usually dress to kill.
She giggled at her own wit, suddenly glad she’d decided to catch her own snack tonight instead of raiding the hospital’s blood bank. Doc E didn’t mind if staffers tapped a bag every once in a while, but she’d already sucked down two units of A-neg this week because she’d been too lazy to hunt.
“Are you waiting for a cab?” she asked, and her snack-to-be turned, startled. “I called for one an hour ago, and it never showed up. I have a very important party to get to.”
He watched her through narrowed eyes. Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as she’d thought. He was good-looking, though . . . chin-length brown hair, full lips, five-o’clock shadow. Maybe she’d do him while she fed from him. Shade wasn’t always available for a rendezvous in the hospital’s supply closet, and Wraith acted as if she had a disease.
Now, Doc E . . . she’d pay to wrap her legs around that brother. Too bad he was a freak of nature, probably the only Seminus demon in history who didn’t bang everything he touched. As far as she knew, he took his pleasures outside the hospital, because no one on staff admitted to screwing him or catching him screwing anyone else.
The man raked his gaze over her body, and she sensed him relax, though a low-pitched, unclean energy buzzed in the air around him. This one might be a Dark Soul, a killer of his own kind. A serial murderer, maybe a sociopath. His dark energy wasn’t strong; he hadn’t killed another human yet, but someday he would.
Perhaps she would dispatch the man, after all. Do humanity a favor.
“You can share my ride if you let me buy you a drink.” He stepped closer, touched her elbow.
“I’d like that.”
Glancing over his shoulder behind him, she took note of the passing vehicles, the people down the street. None paid any attention. Mouth watering, she shoved him into the alley, slammed him against the building wall. He grunted and tried to wrench his hand free of his coat pocket.
Her fangs ached, throbbed in time with the pulse in his jugular. She went up on her toes, sank her canines deep into his neck, and waited for him to stop struggling against her superior power.
The sharp sting of a needle in the back of her neck came as a total surprise. So did the knee to the groin.
The dark-souled one yanked her head away from his throat and hurled her to the pavement. Weakness turned her limbs to noodles, leaving her at the mercy of the man who crouched next to her, rage burning in his eyes.
“Filthy bloodsucker.” He reached up, put pressure to the bite wounds in his throat, and if her heart hadn’t already been shriveled, the sight of his ring, turned so she could see an Aegis shield etched into the band, would have done the job. “Do you know what people will pay for vampire parts? Bitch, it’s time to reap what you have sown.”
He smiled, and for the first time since becoming a vampire, Nancy knew terror.
Four
On the surface, Eidolon wasn’t opposed to torture. Most demons weren’t. Besides, his former career had demanded a certain amount of pain-giving, though it had been his duty to make sure the individual on the receiving end actually deserved the pain.
And really, he could respect torture as an art form—a skilled master could keep his subject alive indefinitely. Someone trained in medical sciences knew how to inflict the maximum amount of pain with the maximum amount of effectiveness.
So yeah, on a superficial level, he could appreciate his colleagues’ discussion. Deep down, though, the part of him that had built UG from concept to the third-wing lava bath would rather see a body heal than be slowly taken apart.
“I have the perfect place to torture the Aegi scum,” Yuri said, kicking up his feet onto the break room couch. “My basement is extremely uncomfortable.”
Eidolon couldn’t agree more. He’d seen the basement in Yuri’s three-story Suffern home, and while he hadn’t been shocked to learn of the shapeshifting hyena’s fondness for BDSM, he had been surprised at the size and contents of the dungeon.
“You wouldn’t want to get blood all over that shiny rubber floor.”