Blood and Kisses

chapter 13



“Hey, Cole!” Poole’s deep voice was husky as he called up the gloomy stairs. The acrid bite of bile still stung his raw throat. The overpowering stench from above seemed to roll in undulating waves down the stairs. He grimaced and swallowed hard. He couldn’t believe he’d actually puked. He’d never live it down. Maybe he could bribe Cole to keep it to herself. She liked those little gem donut things from the vending machine back at the station. The crumb covered ones.

The fading light cast a gray pall throughout the run-down house. He shot back the cuff of his white dress shirt and checked his watch, then looked back out the door. It was getting dark and there was no reason for them to hang around any longer.

He stood on the front landing. Above him were the worn stairs that led to the second floor. Below him, rickety wooden steps led down into what was no doubt a cellar. He glanced uneasily down into the black depths and shivered. He couldn’t remember ever being as disturbed at a crime scene. Even now he felt as if something lurked in the heavy shadows just beyond his view, watching him. Something evil. He shifted his weight. “Cole!”

A sharp creak sent an electric shock through him, raising the tiny hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. It hadn’t been his imagination. Someone was down there.

He drew his gun. “Cole!” he barked, his face pulled tight with fear, and started down the stairs.

“What?” Cole’s voice was brusque and impatient as she spoke from above. Poole whirled to face her. A rush of air escaped from his lungs. He gestured down the stairs with his head and turned back to the black pit.

“There’s someone down there.” He could hear the soft rasp of metal against leather as Cole produced her weapon. He pulled out a small flashlight, shining it above his gun, into the deep hole before him and felt with his foot for the lower step.

Cole joined him. She put a hand on his shoulder. He looked back. The whites of her eyes shone in the feeble light from the half-open front door as she indicated that she would take the left. He was abruptly aware as he nodded that night had fallen. Heavy shadows had yielded the right of way to complete darkness.

He’d discarded his suit jacket after he’d been sick. Bricks pricked his skin through the thin fabric of his dress shirt and chilled his flesh as he pressed his back against the wall to the right.

Cole slid down and pasted herself against the opposite wall. She took a deep breath and raised her weapon. “Ready?” she mouthed. He nodded again.

“This is the police! Come out with your hands where we can see them.” Poole’s words rang through the stairwell and into the inky gulf below them.

Silence.

He nodded for a third time, and they burst simultaneously into the dark basement. Shots, accompanied by flashes, bangs, and shouts, echoed off the stone walls as a large black shape hurtled between them, knocking them to the hard cement floor.

Poole lost control of his gun. It clattered as it hit the unforgiving ground. The flashlight went flying, illuminating isolated objects as it spun, the floor, the wall, Cole’s white face. She was groping for her own weapon, lost somewhere in the murk behind her. The flashlight came to rest against the wall. Its light reflected off the brick and revealed their attacker.

Gideon Damek.

His face, highlighted by the reflected light, shone like a macabre mask in the blackness.

He grabbed Poole by the throat, choking him. Poole clawed at the other man’s large hands. God, he was strong! Each of Damek’s fingers was a steel manacle constricting around Poole’s windpipe. As he struggled to breathe, Poole’s raspy, desperate coughs seemed to come from far away. Tears of pain streamed from his eyes. The edges of his vision fogged. He was dying. He kicked out at Damek. The blow landed with a thump, but it was like kicking granite. The man didn’t even flinch. As the fog expanded and finally swallowed him, Poole heard a shot ring out.



He barely restrained a laugh as he bolted into the cool embrace of the summer night. Blood dripped from his shoulder, but it was easily replaced. The policewoman probably thought he had run off because he feared her weapon. He feared nothing and no one except the dawn.

They had no idea how lucky they were to still be breathing. How the rush of their blood called to him. How he longed to feel the warm, rich spurts upon his tongue, to glut himself on the delicious fluid. If only he didn’t need the pathetic fools. Even now he could imagine the ecstasy of draining the last embers of life from their twitching corpses. He shivered. Oh, the power, the pleasure of the Claiming, how he loved it. Even the taste of blood could not compete. Unlike Gideon, he was not restrained by some fatuous notion of morality. A notion his enemy had not espoused as a human.

He smiled, and felt his eyes flame, not with bloodlust this time, but with anticipation. He was so close to his goal. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon he would have power such that would make the Claiming seem like nothing but a cheap thrill.

If only Inanna were here to share his triumph.

Hatred seethed through him. It was Gideon’s fault he was alone. Everything was Gideon’s fault. It was long past time for his enemy to pay for his crimes.



Thalia fought to wake up. There were things she had to do. Gideon to find, a murderer to stop, but the tentacles of unconsciousness wrapped around her, burying into her flesh, unwilling to let her go, and she lapsed once more into fevered dreams. A swirl of images solidified into another place and time, all at once foreign and familiar.

She walked down a long, smoky hallway lit with flaming reeds and approached the throne, falling to her knees and laying down her heavy basket in front of the pharaoh and his guest, keeping her eyes carefully downcast.

“Is she to your liking?” Pharaoh’s tone was idle, but his deep voice sent a shiver down her spine. The attention of the god/king could be very dangerous. She, a mere slave, had never thought to draw his awesome gaze.

“She is beautiful,” his guest observed.

Thalia hid a gasp. It wasn’t his words that startled her, but the godlike timbre of his voice. Even Pharaoh’s voice could not match its majestic resonance. Her eyes skimmed up across the stranger’s face before she remembered herself and glued her gaze back on the stone floor.

Who was this man who dwarfed Pharaoh?

His commanding presence implied he was at least a king, but she had not heard of a visiting king, nor seen the extensive entourage traveling royalty would require.

“You have served us well. She is yours.”

Thalia bit her lip. Her breath came fast. Three words and her life had changed.

“I’m honored by your generosity.”

“Her name is Neferet.”

Thalia opened her eyes and stared into the darkness, her heart still pounding within her chest. The dream had seemed so real. Her breathing slowed. She could hear Spirit snuffing softly in his sleep.

Only a dream.

She’d had vivid dreams before. The one she’d had the night before she met Gideon, the clairvoyant dream last night, but something about this dream wouldn’t let her go. Even now, she felt she was that slave girl, her life changed forever on one man’s whim, given as a reward to the king of a foreign land. No, not a king—Gideon. Her conscious mind identified the slave girl’s mysterious stranger. She closed her eyes, hoping to finish the dream, certain there was a clue she needed somewhere in it, and sleep claimed her once more.



“How is she?” Gideon slipped into the room, hands in his pockets, his equilibrium restored by a night’s feeding.

Spirit lifted his whiskered chin from the comforter. Look for yourself.

Thalia lay sprawled on the bed, her dusky lashes shading her cheeks. Her color had returned and she was breathing deeply and evenly.

I think she’ll wake soon.

Gideon nodded. “I’ll sit with her.”

Spirit leaped from the bed. I think she’ll be okay for a moment. Why don’t we go downstairs?

Gideon followed Spirit back down the stairs and into the kitchen, wondering what the familiar wanted to say.

He didn’t have to wait long.

I’ve held my tongue, and didn’t interfere, Spirit began, because although she is not the strongest witch ever to be Champion, Thalia is a talented investigator with excellent instincts and that has always seen her through, but you should know I have the means to protect her, if necessary.

Gideon let slip a tiny bitter laugh. He didn’t know if that was true, but God, he hoped it was. He squeezed his eyes shut. He had proven he couldn’t be trusted to keep the animal inside at bay. That he was only a thread away from going rogue. He should leave her. But the image that had convinced him to join her would not go away. He had to stay.

He opened his eyes and made himself face Spirit’s dark-rimmed gaze. “I deserved that. But I will walk into the sun before I endanger her again.”

Spirit nodded, which should have looked absurd coming from a dog, but Gideon had become inured to the sight of human gestures coming from the familiar. Spirit’s dark, almond-shaped eyes lingered on Gideon’s face. I must be mad, but I believe you.

“It’s good to know she has you to watch over her,” Gideon said. He wished it could be he, but since that could never happen, at least she had someone. “How did you come to live with the Kents?”

Spirit looked at the floor. For a moment Gideon thought he wouldn’t answer. Finally, he said, I love her like a daughter. But I serve her family as atonement.

It was clear the familiar was stepping into painful territory, perhaps was already regretting his words, but Gideon couldn’t help but ask, “Atonement?”

Spirit sighed. Thalia comes from a long line of beautiful women. It was a long ago ancestor, Georgina Atwater, who bound me to her family. I...made a mistake. That mistake cost her her life. She had a young son. I promised her as she died that I would protect him. I gave up my life as a mage and took on the role of familiar, so I could do just that.

“Why a dog?”

Spirit chuckled without humor. It seemed a fitting penance. Of course, I wasn’t a basenji in those days.

The familiar seemed in a talkative mood. “Tell me about Thalia.”

He walked over to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and settled into it while pulling the chair next to him out for Spirit. Spirit hesitated, then leapt into the chair. He lay down, sphinx-like and crossed his white paws. What do you want to know?

Gideon shrugged. “Everything.”

You don’t ask for much, do you?

Gideon cocked a dark brow.

Thalia has always been different, even for a witch. Her mark sets her apart from witches because it identifies her as the Champion. And it keeps her from forming attachments with pettys because she feels it’s unattractive.

“I think it’s lovely,” Gideon said, then regretted it. But perhaps it was the right thing to say because Spirit seemed to relax at the words and when next he spoke, he seemed less guarded.

A Champion can be male or female, but they always have the mark. It’s hereditary in Thalia’s family, as is potent magical powers. Unfortunately, Thalia has never shown more than average talent in magic and I’m afraid... He broke off and then began again. I’m afraid that the local magic community has lost faith in her. I’ve been hearing rumors from some of the other familiars and earlier this evening while you were...ill, I got word of a meeting being held to discuss Thalia’s suitability as Champion.

“What?”

Spirit raised a paw. They’re scared. They mean well.

“Do they?”

“Yes, do they?” It was Thalia speaking from the doorway, her hands braced against the doorframe on either side.



Thalia couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who doubted her abilities. Blindsided, her chest clenched. What more could go wrong? She took a shaky step toward the table.

In the blink of an eye, Gideon was there. He helped her take a seat and began rummaging through the massive, state-of-the-art refrigerator, looking, she assumed, for something for her to eat.

He piled food on the counter, tomatoes, onions, green peppers, spaghetti sauce, cheese, bread, then closed the fridge and examined the items as if he had never seen them before. Despite her agitation, the lost expression on his face as he looked at the pile was priceless. She laughed.

“I’ve watched Cam cook for her family hundreds of times. You’d think I would have picked up something,” he said.

Thalia directed him in the making of a grilled cheese sandwich. While he fried it, she turned the subject back to the discussion she’d overheard earlier. “Do you really think they mean well?”

Spirit exchanged a look with Gideon that Thalia couldn’t read. I don’t know. From what I heard, Mina Shaw had a vision. And now a witch is dead. It will only inflame the situation.

“And Mina didn’t think she could come to me.” Thalia couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.

Word is whatever is coming could destroy the world as we know it. Spirit seemed embarrassed by the overly dramatic statement, but he didn’t qualify it.

Thalia groaned and shook her head. “Isn’t that always the word? I don’t think we’ve ever had a threat that didn’t endanger the world, including Jay Hefer’s boils.”

This time the word could be accurate, Spirit said, matter-of-factly.

Gideon glanced over his shoulder as he flipped the golden-brown sandwich onto a plate. His face was closed as his eyes flicked to Spirit and then Thalia and back again, but he said nothing.

“Have you been hiding something from me, Spirit?” She might cry if her oldest friend had betrayed her as well.

You were asleep when I returned from the meeting. He hesitated. I’ve been reading your mother’s book.

Thalia let out the breath she’d been holding in a rush and slapped a hand on her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot the book.”

Gideon placed the plate on the table in front of her. Fragrant steam rose from the sandwich, and she took a bite. It was good. God, she was hungry.

Gideon sat down across from her. “We’ve been busy. There’s no time like the present. Spirit, will you get the book?”

The familiar hit the ground and disappeared into the hall. Thalia downed the rest of the sandwich in several large bites. Her energy was returning. She felt stronger every second.

She looked up from the plate to find Gideon’s eyes fixed on her face. Did she have ketchup on the corners of her mouth? She took a napkin from the holder in the center of the table and dabbed at her mouth. “What?”

“How was the sandwich?”

Thalia couldn’t help but smile. He was so cute. “It was delicious,” she assured him, ignoring the fact that one side had been just the tiniest bit burned. “Perfectly melty.”

Spirit trotted back into the room with the book in his mouth, holding the thick tome by the end of the worn leather strap that bound it.

He put his front paws on the table and set it down next to her.

Thalia pushed her plate out of the way and unfastened the book.



“Is this it?” said Gideon. It seemed likely, but this was her forte, not his. Vampire magic was more a matter of will than words.

They were two-thirds of the way through the heavy book. Thalia had long since passed it to Gideon and he’d leafed through it, periodically sharing with her some passage that might be important. Spirit was napping on the couch in the office. Thalia lifted her pointed chin from where it rested in her palm, yawned, and dragged the book closer so she could see the page Gideon had indicated. She straightened as she read the words before her.

In the new world,

one lake of five shall be the site.



The ancient dead but living

shall attain great power



When the marked one dies

and a sacrifice is made



By one who rose long ago

from the grave.



She paused, her eyes solemn.

“Bad poetry?” Gideon prompted.

She raised an eyebrow. “This has to be it.” A ribbon of hair fell forward, obscuring the page. Thalia tucked it behind her ear. “The notes say this prophecy came to my mother the night before my father died. She says, at first she thought that she was the marked one in the prophecy, but that now she believes I’m the marked one. That I’m the one who dies.”

The stark fear on Thalia’s face ate at his heart. Against his will, his hand came up and covered hers. “Prophecies don’t always come true.”

“Maybe not, but a lot of people are already dead because of this thing. What I don’t understand is why my mother didn’t tell me about the prophecy before she died. Why keep this from me?” She switched gears, uneasy with the intimacy of the conversation. “You could be both the ‘ancient dead but living’ and ‘the one who rose long ago from the grave.’”

“Or only one.”

“The other could be the rogue.”

“Or someone else entirely.” A face flashed into Gideon’s mind’s eye. Rounded cheekbones, accentuated by a straight nose and firm chin, night dark eyes and perfect skin, a stunning beauty by any standards. Was it possible the woman who had turned him was the being mentioned in the first part of the prophecy?

“God, this is frustrating. I hate prophecies.” Thalia had gone back to examining the notes around the prophecy, using one crescent-shaped nail to trace her mother’s words.

His hand fisted at his side. He’d already endangered her through his own loss of control. Now, this. “I think I know who the first vampire might be.”

Thalia’s head came up. “Who?”

He shook his head. He knew he should tell her everything, but could he take the chance she might run from him? Could he take the chance she might try and fight the rogue alone? She seemed to have forgiven him for trying to kill her, but he had no idea how she would react if she knew what he really was.

“Who?” Her voice was urgent and laced with magic. The corner of his mouth rose into a lopsided grin. It seemed she’d regained her full strength. He couldn’t lie to her, she’d see right through him. Perhaps part of the truth?

“I think it’s likely I am the second vampire in the prophecy, so it’s safe to assume that the first vampire is somehow connected to me, but the only other vampire I’ve ever been close to is dead. That leaves the vampire who turned me.”

Thalia nodded. “Seems logical. What was his name?”

“Her.”

Thalia froze for a second and then nodded. “Go on.”

That was the last thing he wanted to do. He rubbed a hand over his tense face. “Her name was Inanna.”



His face was as hard as marble and just as stiff. Thalia could tell the last thing he wanted to was share, and for some reason she was reluctant to push him.

Maybe because you’re afraid of what you might hear? She tried to smile, but her tight muscles twisted her lips into what probably looked like a smirk. “The rogue could be the vampire in the prophecy, but he or she doesn’t need to be linked to you. It’s possible whoever-it-is is merely following the prophecy.”

Gideon’s dark, level gaze told her he thought she was off-base, but he only stood and grabbed her plate, taking it over to the sink, his broad back a wall between them.

Thalia yearned to go to him, but his posture screamed keep out. She sighed and then got to her feet so quickly her chair squeaked, the noise grating on her sensitive nerves. She winced. “I think we need to split up, for a while. I’ll go talk to Mina. Here’s the address of the house Spirit led me to earlier.” Thalia pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of her white shorts, intending to toss it on the cherry wood table. Gideon turned around. Before she could let the paper fall, he was there, his large hand on her slim wrist, pulling her against his chest. “I destroyed your trust this afternoon, but the reason we’re working together still stands.”

Thalia could feel his heart pumping his stolen blood. His voice vibrated inside her chest. She met his gaze. His handsome face was pale, his eyes burning. She placed her free hand on his chest. “Gideon, what happened earlier,”—she shook her head, searching for the proper words—“your body was starving. You didn’t hurt me.”

Gideon closed his eyes and dropped her wrist. “I almost killed you.” His eyes opened and the naked pain in their ebony depths stabbed through her like a dagger.

Her freed hand came up to his smooth cheek. “But you didn’t.”

He turned his cheek into her palm. “Only because you nearly gave me everything you had. You could have died because of me.” His glorious voice shook and something gave way inside her. Some internal defense that could not withstand the stark vulnerability revealed by the emotion in his voice. A vulnerability so at odds with his incredible strength.

Later, Thalia wondered where she got the courage, but she reached up, framed his strong face, drew him down to her, and kissed him. Soothing him in the way women have comforted men since the dawn of time.

It may have begun as innocently as a mother kissing a child’s wound, but it soon spun wildly out of control.

Gideon made a sound deep in his throat and took over, his lips stoking a fire in her that threatened to burn down the final remnants of her emotional barriers. His hands traveled down her back. He must have had some magic she knew nothing about because everywhere his hands touched sparks flared, shimmering through her body like a St. Catherine’s wheel on Cinco De Mayo.

She groaned.

He took it as an invitation, parting her lips with his own and easing his tongue into her mouth. Her knees gave way. He caught her before she fell. She was vaguely aware that her feet were dangling over the hardwood floor, but every fiber of her being was focused on his mouth, his hands, and the feel of his hard chest against her breasts. She’d never known such pleasure. The kiss they’d shared earlier had been earthshaking. This one was earth-shattering.

Nothing existed but the two of them and this moment.

Gideon trailed his mouth down the corner of her lips, along her neck and found her pulse, his mouth like a brand, searing the tender skin of her neck. Her head lolled back, exposing her vulnerable throat. She gasped as he bit lightly, scraping her with his sharp teeth without breaking the skin. A shaft of ecstasy shot through her, pooling between her thighs. His tongue laved her skin, wet and hot, stinging through her flesh and entering her bloodstream like a drug. Dizzy, her hands clutched his shoulders, kneading the muscles beneath his shirt.

“Thalia,” he breathed her name like an incantation.

All she could say was, “Yes.”

He pressed her against the island separating the sink from the table, lifted her up and set her on the black granite countertop. She sighed as he settled into the warm cradle of her thighs and rediscovered her mouth, feeding from her lips as if it were his last meal.

Her hands threaded through his hair, savoring the rough silk feel of it through her fingers. It was too much. She lost herself in his spell.