“Yes, from my perspective. But there are those who are younger than he is.”
“So why did the hunters zero in on him now? Is there something else that brought attention to your town? That brought attention to the vampires here? You know why my agency came here—the capsized boat incident. But that was over a year ago. Why are the hunters here now? Did you do something?”
I was watching Rossi when Ryder asked that question and I saw the slight tic of his jaw. No one who hadn’t been staring right at him would have noticed it. It was such a tiny tell, even if someone noticed it, they probably wouldn’t know what it meant.
But I knew what it meant. Rossi was hiding something. There was something that had brought the vampire hunters to town. I didn’t know what it was, but I was keenly curious.
“No,” Rossi lied smoothly.
“Is there something you did to bring attention to this place?”
“No.” The lie was quicker this time.
“All right. Do you know enough about Sven’s past for us to assume it could have been an old vendetta against him? Did he have any outstanding debts or alliances that would have caused this?”
Ryder was starting to sound an awful lot like a cop instead of a freelance monster negotiator or whatever his job description was. A bloom of pride warmed my chest. He really was trying to approach the murder with sympathy and problem solving.
He had good cop instincts, which in this case were also good survival instincts. For the first time since he’d been suspected in this killing, I got the feeling that he might actually be innocent and might get out of this alive.
I didn’t know what I’d expected out of this confrontation. Well, yes, I knew. I expected a fight between Rossi and Ryder. But maybe Ryder had a chance of getting Rossi to listen to his side of the story.
Of course, Rossi had been known to “accidentally” drop people off cliffs after hearing them out. If he wanted Ryder dead, it would take a hell of a lot of interference on our part to keep that from happening.
Rossi did want Ryder dead, but Ryder was still here, breathing. This meeting was going a lot better than I’d expected.
“I am going to taste you, Ryder Bailey,” Rossi’s voice sent shivers down my neck. “And,
when I do, I will know the truth of you.”
Ryder was stock still. Finally his gaze drifted to mine. “Is that something that happens here?”
“No,” I said, recovering my wits. “Of course not. No. Rossi, what the hell? You know there is no feeding in Ordinary.”
“I said taste, not feed.”
“Whatever. No fang-on-vein. That’s the rule. It’s why we hold blood drives every other month, remember?”
“You...right, of course, you do.” The words seemed to come out of Ryder without his permission and he firmly shut his mouth. He was probably wondering if Mr. Tudor, a sweet balding man who ran the community blood drives was a vampire.
He wasn’t. He was a bloodthirsty little redcap.
“It only breaks the rules if the mortal is unwilling. If they are willing, well, it’s a free country, baby.”
“The country might be free but the blood isn’t. No.”
“What will it do if you taste me?” Ryder asked.
“It will break rules set in place long before you got here,” I said. “No.”
“I will know the truth of you,” Rossi told him over my head.
Rude.
“You said that. What does it mean?”
“I will know your truths. I will know your deceptions. Perhaps I will know your soul.”
That sounded like hippy-dippy stuff, or maybe vampy-wampy stuff. Or maybe it was the truth. Maybe a vampire, a very old prime vampire like Rossi could know the what and why of a person with one little sip.
Myra was scowling. She shrugged.
Jean’s eyes were twice as wide as they should be. “Oh, shitballs. Are you going to do it, Ryder? Are you going to let a vampire bite you?”
“No. But I’ll give him a taste if it means he’ll believe I didn’t kill Sven.” He slipped two fingers into his front pocket and pulled out a pocket knife. He flicked open the short blade and held it over the tip of his ring finger.
“This really isn’t necessary,” I said.
“Oh, let the man make up his own mind. You’re not his mom.” Rossi strolled—no, more like glided—across the room to stand in front of Ryder.
I’d never seen Rossi drink blood. It just wasn’t something he ever did in public. As a matter of fact, all the vamps in town kept their blood habits quietly to themselves.
So I could admit there was a tiny bit of utter fascination on my part.
Would Rossi really know all those things about Ryder? Was drinking his blood like reading tea leaves? Would he know everything Ryder wanted to hide, all the good, all the bad?
Was I ready for the truth to come out, no matter what that truth might be?
No.
But then, this had never been my choice. I’d mostly been stalling this moment of truth, wanting to decide for myself on Ryder’s innocence or guilt. Wanting a chance to stand between him and Rossi when the truth—Ryder’s guilt—was confirmed.
I’d been harboring a very real fear of Ryder being guilty.
“I didn’t kill Sven,” Ryder said. “I don’t know who did.” He flicked the blade against his fingertip, just a tiny slice. Blood welled there in a rich, thick drop.
Rossi didn’t even look down at Ryder’s finger. He was watching Ryder’s eyes. Then he bent just enough to lower his face so close, if either of them exhaled too far, Rossi’s lips would touch Ryder’s finger.
But neither of them exhaled. I didn’t think they were breathing.
Which was normal for Rossi. But not for Ryder.
Rossi’s hand moved so fast, I didn’t even see the motion. One moment he was bent over Ryder’s hand like a supplicant bowing to a king. Then his fingers were caught around Ryder’s wrist, holding his hand tight. Hard.
Ryder’s breathing went a little crooked before he evened it out.
Yeah, it was one thing to know Rossi was a vampire. It was quite another to see him display a tiny percentage of what being a vampire really entailed.
Rossi pressed the pinky of his free hand over Ryder’s finger, just enough to hook the barest drop of blood off Ryder’s finger. Then, staring straight into Ryder’s eyes, he licked that drop into his mouth.
I had no idea what Rossi could actually discern from Ryder’s blood. I wanted to look over at Myra and see if she knew. But I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the old west stare down going on in my living room.
“You disappoint me, Mr. Bailey.” Rossi’s words were cool, smooth and sent chills down my spine again.
I was starting to regret not having my gun on me. Not that a simple bullet wound would slow Rossi down.
“I had hoped you were a liar.”
Then, just like that, Rossi let go of Ryder’s wrist.
I could breathe again, and took in a huge lungful of air.
“He didn’t kill Sven?” I asked.
Ryder threw me an exasperated look. “I’ve told you that,” he muttered.
“He did not.”