Nightbred

Sam looked up blindly at the blond woman. “You know CPR?” When she nodded, she said, “Take over compressions for me.”



As soon as the woman did, Sam stopped fighting the death vision, which dragged time in reverse, hauling her across the intersection and down the road two miles, dropping her behind the steering wheel of the truck.



Sam saw a rawboned hand thumb a lighter and touch the flame to the end of a freshly rolled joint. She smelled the harsh, sweet scent of the marijuana as puffs of smoke billowed up in front of her eyes. The tip of the joint flared as she inhaled, and a seed inside it popped, blowing off the glowing end. She heard a young voice swearing as a hand swatted the burning sensation on the top of her right thigh.



She couldn’t stop the boy from looking down to search for the burning ember, or warn him that the green light he’d just seen had turned yellow. She could only brace herself as the yellow switched to red and he roared into the intersection and collided with the SUV. The impact threw her forward into an explosion of sound and whiteness.



The sound of coughing brought her back to reality, where the boy lay struggling for breath on his side.



The blond woman kneeling behind him made soothing noises as she held his shoulders and smiled at Sam. “He’s breathing again on his own.”



“Thank you.” Sam staggered to her feet, scrubbing her palm against the side of her trousers. “You saved his life.”



“So did you,” the woman said simply.



It took another a minute before the downtown patrols and paramedics arrived at the scene. Sam used the time to check on the other victim, who was still sitting quietly on the bench. “How are you feeling, sir?”



“That kid almost died, didn’t he?” He gave her a dazed look. “I got a fifteen-year-old, just got his restricted permit.” His eyes shifted to the scene across the street. “That could be him.”



She nodded. “Talk to your boy about this. Let him know how it feels.” She touched his shoulder. “And check his pockets occasionally.”



After she gave the details to the patrolmen, Sam walked back to her car. The smell of the blood made her throat dry and her fangs ache, but the last thing she wanted to do was hunt.



The urge to hurry back to the stronghold had disappeared as well. Although Lucan hadn’t been responsible for what he’d done or said, she still felt bruised inside. She’d never taken his love for granted, but the bond they shared was supposed to guarantee it would last forever. Discovering that someone else could make it and Lucan go away had left her feeling brittle, as if one more knock might smash her to pieces.



“Excuse me.” The blond woman walked up to her, and held out her mobile. “You dropped this on the grass.”



“Thanks.” Sam took it and pocketed it. “You should go and talk to the officer over there; he’s going to need a statement from you.”



“I’ve already done that.” She glanced around. “I was wondering, Detective, if you knew where I might get a glass of wine at this hour. I’m still feeling a bit shaken.”



“You certainly don’t show it, and my name is Samantha.” Sam noted the soft English accent and the pale skin; the woman must have just arrived on vacation. “There’s a decent pub just around the corner, and I’m off duty now, so how about I buy you the drink?”



“That’s very kind of you. I’m Werren.” A smile briefly warmed her cool features. “I don’t want to keep you from going home.”



Home was Lucan, but she didn’t want to go there. Not until she was ready to be his sygkenis instead of a screaming bitch. “It’s okay. Come on.”



Neptune’s Bar and Grill had lost the grill to a kitchen fire some years back, and cut its losses by sticking to the better-selling liquid comforts: beer, wine, and liquor. Sam scanned the faces of the patrons, mostly men, nursing their bottles and glasses as they watched a sportscaster on the big plasma TV in one corner. A few glanced at them as they sat at the end of the bar, and Sam made a mental note to accompany her Good Samaritan every step of the way back to her car or hotel.



A baby-faced bartender came over and greeted them as if they were swans in a desert. “Ladies, what can I do you for?”



“Red wine okay?” Sam asked the other woman, who nodded. “Got something that won’t burn off our tonsils with the first sip?”



“Cases of the stuff,” he said, and rolled his eyes. “Boss’s wife comes here with her girlfriends. They’re all like French or something.”



“Then please do bring us something that you can’t pronounce,” Werren said politely.



Sam held on to her chuckle until the bartender reached the cooler at the other end of the bar. “I love how you Brits make a snappy comeback sound like Shakespeare.”



“While I am ever astounded by the generous nature you Americans possess.” As the bartender delivered two glasses of dark red wine, she returned his silly grin with a regal nod. “You’re always willing to jump in and save someone, whether it be car-crash victims”—she lifted her wineglass—“or a stranger whose insides resemble the Gordian knot.”



“Well, then.” Sam held out her glass. “God save the Queen.”



“And Mr. Obama.”



The wine tasted surprisingly good, and Sam thought she might be able to drink most of hers if she took it slow. Fortunately her companion seemed in no hurry to knock back her glass.



“So what brings you to South Florida?” Sam asked. “Vacation, business, family?”



“Business. My employer sent me to acquire some property, but I have a little time for myself.” Werren lifted a hand to the high collar of her blouse before she took another sip from her glass. “What is it like to live here, in this beautiful place?”



“As places go it’s usually hot, crowded, and busy, and that’s just in the off-season.” She ran her thumb along the thin stem of her glass. “But there are some wonderful places to explore. The Riverwalk, ballet at the performing arts center, and all the neat shops at Las Olas. There’s a wildlife preserve a little south of here that has nature trails and a walk-through butterfly garden. It’s beautiful and peaceful.”



“Sounds lovely, but I’m more of a night person.” She flinched as two of the men hooted loudly over a touchdown on the television.



Sam glanced sideways and what she saw nearly made her fall on the floor.



“Not terribly fond of loud noises, either.” The other woman frowned at her. “Is something wrong?”



“Tired eyes.” Sam rubbed them before she studied Werren again. Her blond hair gleamed, every strand brushed neatly in place, and her ladylike outfit looked equally immaculate. So why for an instant did I think she was wearing an old potato sack only slightly filthier than the rat’s nest on her head? It couldn’t have been a vision; the woman wasn’t bleeding or dead.



Werren picked up her glass, and then wrinkled her nose and set it down again. “I think this lovely wine is actually giving me a headache. Would you mind terribly if I cut this short?”



“No problem.” Sam dug some bills out of her wallet and tucked them under her half-empty glass for the bartender. “I’ll walk with you. Car or hotel?”



“I’ve a lovely little cottage by the water, about a mile down the road,” Werren said as they left the bar. “But you needn’t walk me there. I won’t get lost.”



“This time of night? You’ll get mugged,” Sam advised her. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”



Traffic was again flowing through the intersection where the collision had occurred, and as Sam reached her car, she looked for the wrecked vehicles, which were gone. The city’s accident-response department must have already towed them away. Even as she thought that, something else about the scene seemed wrong.



“It’s strange,” she said to Werren as she merged into the southbound lane. “That accident caused such a mess, but now it looks like it never even happened.”



“I wish it hadn’t.” Werren sounded distant, as if her thoughts were elsewhere.



Sam saw the way she was rubbing her fingers against her right temple. “Headache getting worse?”



“It’s only just beginning, I’m afraid.” She nodded at the street corner they were approaching. “It’s right there, at the end of that walkway.”



Sam found an empty space at the curb, and looked up at the dark windows of an exceptionally pretty little beach house. “Now this is really strange. I’ve driven past this corner a couple thousand times and I’ve never once noticed this property.” She saw the way the other woman was frowning. “This is the place, right?”



“It is, but I always leave the light on in the front room and now it’s off.” She turned to Sam. “Would it be completely wretched of me to ask you to walk up and have a look?”



“Wretched, no. Smart, yes.”



Sam got out and scanned the surrounding area as she approached the front wraparound porch. The wind played with hanging chimes of pipes, shells, and sea glass, and the sound of the tide retreating added a soft background rush. The front door and windows bore no marks of being forced open, and when Sam climbed up the steps, she couldn’t smell or feel any sign of a mortal who might have done the same.



“I think you’re okay,” Sam said as Werren joined her. “Just keep your doors and windows locked, and if you want to go somewhere at night, you should . . . call . . . a cab.” There had been no glass on the road at the accident scene, Sam suddenly recalled. Not a single shard. While county usually did a decent job cleaning up after a collision, they weren’t that meticulous.



“I had no choice, my lady,” the other woman murmured.



She stared at Werren, whose face had lost all expression. “What did you call me?”



“If you fight them, you will be made to suffer.” The cool eyes closed.