Pool of Crimson

chapter 9



The oversized white French doors, overlooking the back deck of the brick mansion in Victorian Village where I’d nearly been raped and eaten a few nights ago, loomed over me like a gateway to my nightmares. Talk about warm and fuzzy memories. Yeah, right!

The three-inch heels I wore were not helping with my attempt at a stealthy entry into the house. I’d ditched my office at lunch to practice a little Breaking & Entering. Now that I stood at the threshold of a felony, I was, understandably, having second thoughts.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with cool autumn air that smelled of decaying leaves and wet grass. I squared my shoulders. The time for hesitation was over. Jade had already been hurt in the crossfire. When I crossed said threshold, there’d be no going back. The vampires would smell me all over everything. They’d know I’d been there but I needed to know.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a worn brown leather envelope. I rolled up the sleeves of my crisp white dress shirt, readjusted my black sweater vest and matching tie, and opened the little leather case. Several stainless steel lock picks gleamed back at me in the mid afternoon sun.

I’d bought the set while I was still in high school. The purpose was to pick the lock on my band director’s cabinet—where he kept the popcorn. I wasn’t bad, but if the lock had more than three tumblers, I was sunk. If I needed, I could just break one of the panes of glass in the French door and reach inside. That approach lacked finesse and made a lot of noise, though so I’d try the lock first.

I knelt down in front of the lock and slipped the tension wrench into the keyhole. I spun it gently half a turn clockwise. I slipped the long slender pick from the case and inserted it into the keyhole alongside the tension wrench, hooked end first. I found the first tumbler easily, then pushed the pin up into the housing and the second then the third fell into place.

SHIT! Sweat beaded on my upper lip and brow as I searched for the fourth.

“Come on, you sonovabitch,” I cursed under my breath as I shifted the pick in the casing. After a few harrowing moments of desperation, the fourth tumbler slid into place. I pushed it up into the casing with a quick flick of my wrist and a sigh of relief. The lock clicked open with a sound that echoed in my ears like a coin in an empty metal drum. I turned the knob and shoved the door open.

I leapt to my feet and waited for all hell to break loose.

No alarm.

No guard.

Not even a guard dog.

I stepped over the threshold cautiously, quietly.

The room appeared large enough and grand enough to be a ballroom with its high ceilings and beautifully patterned parquet floors. A sofa, loveseat, and several tables sat in front of the enormous stone fireplace. Anything that big could only be characterized as a hearth. The stonework crept up the entire wall to the vaulted ceiling, creating a conversation area. The room felt as if someone actually lived there with a grand piano in the corner resting comfortably on a beautiful red and gold Persian rug. The walls were bare; no pictures, paintings, or art. I wasn’t sure what I expected. It wasn’t like they’d have family pictures hanging everywhere.

I crept across the floor to the closed double doors at the opposite end of the room. The click, click, click of my heels on the parquet floors echoed through the house eerily. I’d thought about taking them off but I might need my hands so I left them on. The vampires were asleep anyway.

I reached for the door to the rest of the house and tugged.

The winding stairs to the second floor, where I’d perched and listened, were off to my right. The office where Patrick, Ebony Goddess, and the Marlboro Man discussed me was on my left. The door was shut and I gave a silent prayer it wasn’t locked. I scanned the familiar foyer, took a few steps out into the emptiness, and peered up the stairs into the dark for signs of movement.

Nothing.

I stepped out further into the foyer and the click of my heels once again echoed through the dead space. I bounced up to the balls of my feet and walked on tiptoes to the office door.

I stopped, frozen in my tracks. A waft of sulfur tickled my nose as a breeze brushed across my feet from under the door several feet down from the office. I hadn’t noticed it the other night. The closer I got to the mysterious door, the stronger the putrid odor. A faint line of light emanated from the space between the floor and the door. My gut tightened and adrenaline shot through me in a hot rush, tightening every muscle in my body. My instincts shouted at me not to open that door. My heart pounded in my chest. My stomach twisted in knots. A soft warning growl reverberated in the back of my mind. I was scared shitless. But I had to look. I reached out hesitantly and turned the knob slowly.

I forced the tension from my arm into the door to keep it steady and tight against the jamb. Don’t squeak. Please, don’t squeak.

Lights flickered at the bottom of the stairs. The smell of sulfur hit my nose like a wave of toxic fumes. The steps leading down were not the dilapidated rotting wood of my parents’ home like I’d thought. A house this old should have had old rotting wood somewhere but these were solid stone. I sighed in relief as quietly as I could and said a silent thank you. At least I knew I wouldn’t fall through and break my leg.

Each step I took downward gave way to a larger expanse that opened up before me. The basement was large enough for almost two whole houses. The area was two stories tall and wider than a single football field.

The air was chilly and damp. I breathed in the mix of moisture held in by the stone walls and the searing smell of rotten eggs. I could smell the water seeping through the cracks of the stones, giving the air a musty, almost mildewed, feel. The expanse was silent and claustrophobic, like a tomb.

I did my best not to slip on the sandstone steps. Sandstone’s like a sheet of ice when it gets wet, and the moisture in the air had made the stairs slick and dangerous. I reached the bottom in one piece without tripping, falling, or slipping. I smiled, impressed with myself.

Gas lamps lined the north wall, providing a soft, flickering yellow glint. The ceiling had barrel arches with large pillars throughout as support. My heels echoed, thanks to those arches. The floor ahead of me sank into an amphitheater, with long lines of cement circling the center stage like a stadium. A giant pentagram had been etched in the stone floor, and a familiar stern woman with white hair and vibrant blue eyes stood in the center of it. The same ghost that had watched me in the attic smiled at me as her stark white hair whipped around her in a wind I couldn’t feel.

“So this is why you’re all here,” I said softly as I stepped closer to the pentagram. A shiver ran up my spine as I crossed the pentagram circle and a sensation of pure evil crept into my bones. The spirit moved aside and allowed me to get a better look at the pentagram. A dark brown stain, thick and viscous, in the center of the pentagram turned my stomach as dread sank into my toes. Blood. Old blood.

A wash of unease swept over me like a cold wind in December. My skin crawled and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I knew evil when I felt it, and I stood in the middle of something that would taint me for the rest of my life. I looked up at the old woman with a question in my eyes as she floated slightly above the blood on the floor.

“I don’t know if I can fix this,” I whispered with resignation and an apology, making my voice thick after a few moments. “I’ll do my best though,” I whispered and, even as quietly as I had spoken, my voice echoed in the empty, cold, damp basement.

The ghost faded in a translucent wave, like air rippling above hot pavement. I was alone again. I shook off the chill in my bones and raced toward the stairs.

I couldn’t get out of that basement fast enough. I high- tailed my ass up the stairs without a second thought to the slick surface of the stone steps, then closed the door silently and breathed a sigh of relief as my hands shook with fear.

I hadn’t really believed demons were involved. I hadn’t wanted to believe. But the creepy feel of evil that had swept over me in that basement wouldn’t let me deny it any longer. Vampires were one thing. Demons were something else entirely.

I also couldn’t ignore the side effect of that pentagram, trapping spirits in the mansion, and they didn’t like it. I took a couple of deep breaths to try and keep my heart from pounding out of my chest. I wasted a few precious minutes standing with my back firmly pressed against that basement door.

I stepped away hesitantly. I found it difficult to pull my body forward, like I was the only thing holding that evil back. I closed my eyes and took a big step. An incredible sense of lightness filled my mind and body, overtaking me with each step away from that door and the pentagram hidden behind it.

I stopped in front of the office door. I turned to look over my shoulder at the stairs. Still nothing. No movement, no shifts in the air, no smells, nothing. I took the cool knob in my hand and said a quick prayer and made the sign of the cross over my chest in a long forgotten habit, hoping for a break. I was pretty sure God didn’t give a shit if I got a break, but it couldn’t hurt. I turned the knob. The handle turned. Open.

The office was dark. I flicked the switch on the wall, flooding the office with light. The walls were white and bare like the other room, stark with an antiseptic feel. A dark mahogany desk with a high back chocolate leather chair sat in the center of the room. Open books and papers were spread across the top haphazardly. A black rotary phone held down a neat stack of papers that looked like contracts with little red signature tabs sticking out of the sides.

A honey-colored leather club couch sat along the wall to my left, looking worn and lived in. A fire burned in the fireplace, identical to the one in the other room. The black scorch marks scaring the stone made it look well used. The wall behind the desk was lined with built in bookshelves filled with old books and aged, delicate texts, the kind with scrollwork and no titles on the spines.

I walked around the desk and started sifting through the odd collection of papers. The calendar on top of the pile was open to the month ahead, November. Red ovals surrounded several days and an assortment of appointments were written in black over several squares. A black line crossed through T. Dean in the margins, then continued across the entire calendar back to a square at the top. The New Moon date was circled.

I picked up the edge of the calendar and quickly leafed through the contracts beneath it. I didn’t have time to read and decipher the legalese. A brief look was all I had time for at the moment. I noticed the name at the top of the contracts, Lebensblut, Inc. I repeated it several times to myself silently so that I wouldn’t forget.

I sifted through the open books on top of the desk next, flipping through the yellowed pages. Garish pictures stared back at me. Horned beasts and flames licking the skin from tortured humans. Images of blood stained every page. Demons! I thumbed through the pages of the first book searching for any mention of Ahriman, then followed with a second book, but most of the text was in a script I couldn’t read, either Arabic or Persian. The other texts were in German and Russian. I didn’t read German and I didn’t have enough time to translate the Russian.

A few business cards were strewn about, almost forgotten in the contracts and books. One was for an HVAC repair company and was being used as a book mark in the German text. Another was propped up against the rotary phone. That one was for Crimson, a night club downtown. A third business card stuck out from under one of the books, all I could read was the bottom line of the title. It was for a construction company, Trevelyan something. The bulldozer on the corner of the card was cute. I reached for the card but stopped. A creak from the hardwood floor stopped me cold. I looked up quickly with a snap of my neck.

Patrick’s dark, intense gaze stared back at me from the doorway of the office.

He shouldn’t be awake!

I wiped all emotion from my face and gave him my version of the cold, hard stare. His power washed over me, like sitting in the middle of a stream at the beginning of April. The cool sensation of water rushed around me, over me, and finally through me as his power engulfed me.

He lounged in the doorway, arms crossed over his chiseled chest. An imposing and virile figure in red silk pajama pants, tied loosely at his narrow hips. His feet were bare, as was his chest, a perfect alabaster canvas, except for the trail of dark hair circling his belly button and descending lower beneath the line of his pajama bottoms. My mind wandered to how his skin would feel underneath my fingertips. He looked like sin standing in the doorway. I held back the grunt of approval lodged in the back of my throat.

Power, for some vampires, was a short burst of cold electricity. That kind of power could knock me back on my ass if I wasn’t prepared; quick bursts of energy that would dissipate quickly. Patrick’s power was a constant pressure at my skin and pulsed with his every move. He was much more powerful than any vampire I’d ever experienced before.

“Are you having fun?” His tone was antagonistic, his shoulders tight, his lips hardened into a grim line.

I did break into his house, after all. I suppose I couldn’t blame him for being a little annoyed.

He didn’t move from the doorway. He didn’t move at all.

“I wouldn’t say ... fun exactly,” I said, heavy on the sarcasm as I carefully laid the book back on the desk.

“No?”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping? Taking a vampire nap?” I took a cautious step to my left. There was more clearance around that side of the desk, and I wanted room to move.

His eyes followed me, like a large cat follows its prey through the tall grasses of the savannah, his dark eyes focused and undeterred.

I felt small under that gaze, but I wouldn’t let him know that. I squared my shoulders and took another step toward him.

“I couldn’t sleep with someone banging around down here,” he said with an unexpected and quirky smile.

“I’m so sorry for disturbing your beauty sleep.” I stepped out from behind the desk to face him full on. His eyes went down my body in a long, lecherous gaze. His eyes narrowed on my heels.

“I’ll just leave then and let you get back to it. You look like you need your beauty rest.” I quipped as I took a step forward. He didn’t move to stop me. He didn’t have to. He had me trapped.

His eyes moved slowly up my body, making me feel naked. It was a hungry look that I didn’t understand. “You know I can’t let you leave.” Sorrow edged his words and his brow furrowed as he met my eyes.

“I think you can,” I said with a small sly smile as I balled my fists at my sides. If he wanted a fight, I’d damn well give it to him.

“You’re not really dressed for a fight, sweetheart,” he cooed. He casually placed his right hand on the doorjamb, then leaned his long, lean body across the open doorway. The way he’d said sweetheart made me think that it wasn’t just a word to him. I’d expected it to feel like a sneer or be filled with contempt. It wasn’t.

I wanted to hear it again. What the hell? I shook that thought from my mind and took a fighting stance, feet apart, hip angled toward him.

“Don’t be so sure,” I said through clenched teeth. I didn’t like that he was the one who made me feel wanted, feel normal. I’d beat that need out of him and out of me, too, even if it killed me.

“You really want to do this?” he asked as he brought his hand down from the doorjamb to rest casually at his side. The movement was too practiced, too precise to be casual, and I noticed.

“Yeah, I think I do.”

He was on me before I even saw him move. His arms wrapped around me in a bear hug so tight my ribcage cracked in protest, and I fought not to scream. He lifted my legs off the ground and held me tightly against him, his firm, muscled chest crushed my breasts against him. His face loomed inches from mine. “You still want to do this?” he asked with a grin.

He enjoyed having me pressed up against him. “Uh huh,” I said with a smile just before I bashed my forehead into his.

His arms slackened. He released me as his head flung back from the force of my blow. I hit the ground and wobbled on my three-inch heels, but I caught myself on the edge of the desk before I could fall to the floor.

Patrick rubbed his forehead.

Hadn’t been expecting that. I’d definitely rung his bell. Ha!

I took a step forward and kicked him hard in the chest, scraping his skin with the heel of my shoe. He stumbled back toward the open door. He caught himself after a few steps on the doorjamb and shook his head like a wet dog. His eyes focused on me with a gleam of excitement in them. That look made my heart race with anticipation.

Shit! I liked it. I raised my fists up in preparation for a fight.

Patrick took a step forward and closed the gap between us. I brought my right fist up in a quick jab. He dodged to the left, then grabbed my outstretched wrist, landing his own upper cut to my kidney.

The impact felt like I’d been hit by a car, brining the sting of tears to my eyes. I brought my left fist up in a hook to his jaw, connecting with his bone with all the strength I had. He held my right wrist tighter as blood trickled from his mouth and down his chin. Mouth tight, he gave me another uppercut to the kidneys.

I gasped in pain. I wouldn’t be able to take another one of those to the same kidney. Bringing up my right foot, I slammed my heel down onto the top of his bare foot. I sank the heel of my shoe into his flesh, stretching the metatarsals around my stiletto.

His mouth opened in a silent scream as he released my wrist. I hit him with a right hook to the jaw and followed it quickly with a left jab to the gut, moving quickly before he regained his concentration.

Stepping back to get better leverage, I brought my foot up. But not in time. He slammed the back of his hand across my face, slapping me in a hard line across my cheek. My mouth filled with blood, and I wavered. He’d hit me hard. Harder than he’d punched me in the kidneys.

I’d clearly pissed him off.

I ran my tongue along my top row of teeth. Yep, still there. I spit the mouthful of blood on the floor, staining the hardwood red as I stepped to the left. His gaze followed me, but he didn’t move. There was only one way I was getting out alive. One of us was going to die. The thought of killing the vampire standing before me left an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I didn’t want to kill him.

I needed to kill him.

I should kill him.

I wasn’t sure I could kill him.

I circled him, my hands still balled into fists. I waited for his move as he watched me. I had the idea the same thoughts were running through his mind. Probably wishful thinking on my part.

I had to end this.

I knew what I had to do. I kicked down hard on the side of his knee, sending him to the floor with a flourish of swear words tumbling from his full lips. While he was down on his remaining good knee, I brought my leg around and across his face. He hit the floor with a thud of solid flesh and a bash of his skull against the hardwood floor.

I stepped over him and trapped one wrist down in the curve of my heel. I held my other foot over his neck, applying pressure to his skin with my heel. All I had to do was stomp down to incapacitate him. I’d have to find something to kill him if I needed to, but there had to be something around that would do the job. I was pretty sure I’d seen some wood in the fireplace.

His body lay still beneath me as I stood over him, tight and ready for a fight. His chest heaved up and down in time with my own heavy breaths. My pulse pounded in my ears as the blood rushed through my system. All the pain had disappeared with the adrenaline rush of having the upper hand. He opened his eyes and turned them up to meet mine. He remained still as death beneath me. The heat from his dark eyes rippled through me like a shock through my body.

The corners of his mouth turned up in a pleased smile, making his dark eyes twinkle with delight. His free hand moved cautiously, painstakingly slow through the air. He moved like he was afraid any sudden movement might frighten the skittish kitten away.

He was right.

I could kill him. I should kill him before he had the chance to get the upper hand. I didn’t. I stood there, frozen as his fingers trailed over the toe of my shoe, up over the top of my foot. His long, slender fingers brushed over my skin. Gooseflesh rippled up my leg at his cool touch. His hand skimmed my skin, feather light to the touch, over my ankle, and up under my pant leg. I swallowed hard, almost audibly, and my breath hitched. His hand pressed against my leg in a caress that sent my eyelids fluttering. My breasts grew heavy with want, my mouth went dry, and my sex clenched in reaction to his soft caress. A sound escaped my lips, once that I’d never heard before ... a moan of submission.

“So warm,” he whispered.

Against my better judgment, my body reacted to his touch. I felt my face flush and grew wet with arousal.

His fingers trailed a cool line of fire down the back of my leg. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the first night I laid eyes on you,” he said in a hungry drawl that sounded too close to a growl to be safe.

I snapped my eyes open and jerked away from his fingers. I backed away several steps toward the door, stumbling over my heels. I couldn’t do this, even if my body ached for him to touch me again. I raised my shaking fists in defense. I’d break his nose before I let him touch me again.

He pushed up on his elbows and watched me with that same predatory gaze. I saw the desire behind the chase, and my stomach tightened. A shiver ran up my spine as I met his eyes. Something horrible had happened. I wanted him to catch me.

“I-I can’t stay.” I took another step backward toward the door, toward salvation.

“Sweetheart,” he said, emotion rich in his tone as he sat up, trying to reach for me. There was no hint of mockery in his voice. He relaxed back on his elbows and a small smile lit up his dark eyes. “I’m sure we’ll meet again,” he said, widening his smile to something that was devastatingly handsome.

I had to get out of there. I turned and ran, unmindful of the racquet my heels made, and sped through the double French doors and into the sunlight. Patrick didn’t follow. He couldn’t. He was undead, and the undead didn’t do sunlight.