CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Sure. You can stay,” says the young nurse with short black hair and delicious olive skin. “But it’s gonna cost ya.” She crinkles her nose.
I’m standing in the waiting room, and visiting hours ended over an hour ago. I need to get in there and check on Miriam. “Well, it’s not just me. My girlfriend is coming later tonight, and we’d love it if either one of us can stay at Miriam’s bedside.” I take the nurse’s hand and place a soft kiss on top. “It would mean so much to me.”
“How much?” She giggles.
“Mmmm…” I growl, knowing what she wants. I must quickly decide whether to give it. “How about five hundred dollars?”
She frowns. “Not exactly what I had in mind.”
“A thousand?”
She pokes the center of my chest. “A young, strong guy like you—with those dark eyes and beautiful lips…” Her gaze falls to my groin. “And other impressive attributes? I don’t know. A thousand hardly feels like enough to pass up an hour with you.”
“An hour?” I snap. “Jesus, woman. That’s a long time.”
Not that I couldn’t perform, but it’s simply a lot to ask of a man who’s merely bartering for one small favor and doesn’t live for sex. Do not get me wrong. I like sex, but only when it’s combined with the act of drinking blood, in which case, there’s nothing hotter. Me. Her. Our warm bodies writhing while I do what nature intended and she gains excruciating pleasure from it all. That perfect synchronization only comes along once in a blue moon. Otherwise, my kind is usually just taking sustenance and using our gifts not to get caught.
“Two thousand?” I offer.
She smiles and sticks out her hand. “Deal. But if anyone makes noise about you being in the room, then you have to go.”
I shake her hand. “Done.”
“And I want a kiss.”
My lips crinkle in protest.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “but your lips are…wow. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again if I don’t kiss them.”
I remember my upbringing and hear Clive’s voice in the back of my head, “You’re a vampire now, and with that comes great responsibility. You must always remember that you not only have the strength to destroy a person’s body, but their spirit as well. Always be kind and gentle, Michael. Always. Save the viciousness for those who truly deserve it.”
I nod. “Of course. It would be my honor to kiss such a beautiful woman.”
Her grin stretches from ear to ear, and she takes me inside, past the big double doors and into a vacant room. I slide my hand to the back of her warm neck, ignoring the strong pulse of hot blood flowing just beneath the surface. Staring into her dark eyes, I slowly bend my head and place a kiss on her soft lips.
Quickly, her arms are around my neck, and she clings to me, her tongue delving into my mouth.
I cannot lie. It is a very nice kiss. The sort that once would’ve made me buckle at the knees and offer marriage. Yet I feel nothing.
I sigh and gently pull back, offering her a warm smile and the intimate touch of my thumb sliding across her lower lip. “You are a lovely kisser, Nurse Davis. Truly lovely.”
She bats her eyelashes, and I know she’s drunk with lust. But I am a gentleman, first and foremost. I do not take advantage of the weak, the good, or in her case, the ones who are about to beg me for it.
I step back. “There’s ice water in the fridge.” I know because I’ve seen the nurses dipping into the stash every time they get near me. I would claim it’s because I am handsome, powerful, and confident—all true—but that only accounts for sixty percent of it. All right, eighty. The rest is my vampire charm.
Nurse Davis strolls away, fanning her face, and I eagerly make my way to my quirky librarian, anxious to see how things have progressed. By now, she will be feeling the draw like I do.
“Oh, Michael. You’re back,” says Miriam, sipping on some apple juice and sounding less than enthusiastic. “I was expecting your girlfriend.”
I try not to allow her comment to ruffle my feathers. “She’s tied up at work, so I told her I would keep you company tonight.”
Miriam gazes into her cup and wiggles her toes under the beige blanket.
“I can go if you want.” I point over my shoulder. “I just thought that after everything, you might not want to be alone.”
“No. It’s fine. Really.”
“Are you sure?” Because either way, you won’t be left alone. I would simply remain just outside the door.
“Yeah. I’m sure. I’m just not very good company right now,” she says. “This whole thing is a mess.”
You have no idea. “I’ve been through worse. Very recently, in fact.”
“Are you talking about your friend who just passed away?” she asks.
I almost forgot that I’d told her.
I grab the plastic chair from the corner of the room, place it to her side, and take a seat. “That would be a yes.”
“Oh, Mike. How awful. First you have to deal with that, then with me.”
“Yes, well, my mother used to say that if it doesn’t kill us—”
“It makes us stronger,” she offers.
“No—then we should be more careful because life is fleeting and someday we might not be so lucky, and dying really hurts.”
Miriam frowns.
“My apologies. My mother was rather dark sometimes,” I say.
“Still, I guess she was right.”
Not really. I died, yet here I am. “But that’s enough about me. How are you feeling?”
Miriam returns to staring at her cup. “I’m not sure.”
“The events are much to digest, I’m sure.”
She looks at me and cocks her head to one side inquisitively.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. It’s just that sometimes you remind me of someone much older—not only what you say, but how you say it.”
Oh boy. I’ve let my age show through too many times. Perhaps it will be easier to simply spin another lie, even if I’d prefer not to.
I run my hand over my hair. “I had a strict upbringing. My parents didn’t allow slang.”
She laughs. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Seriously.” I nod.
“Well, I find it kind of endearing, actually.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Sure. You actually remind me of my grandpa—rest in peace.”
I suppose it is better than being thought of as creepy.
She continues, “And I’m guessing your parents must’ve wanted the best for you, so they wanted you to learn how to speak properly—it’s kind of nice when you think about it.”
They had wanted the best, but they hadn’t wanted me. That, however, is all in the past, which I let go of long ago.
To change subjects, I begin telling Miriam about my day at the library, omitting that I found her dirty vampire book and attempted to scare the children. I leave in the part about story time.
“What! You didn’t.” She chuckles.
“What’s the matter with Rumpelstiltskin? It’s a classic.”
“It’s frightening!” she protests.
“They didn’t seem to think so. They asked me to read it again.”
“You’re too funny.” She hits my hand, and I feel a subtle spark. She doesn’t seem to notice. “Well, tomorrow you’ll have to do The Hungry Caterpillar—I read it every Thursday.”
“I had something a little darker in mind, like the original ‘Little Red Riding Hood,’ but I’ll think about it.”
Miriam laughs. “You’re going to give them nightmares.”
“So? You don’t have to tuck them in at night.”
Her jaw falls open. “Yes, but I care. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have a library.”
“And exactly why have you kept it open? Besides wanting to honor your parents? Was running a library what you wanted to do?”
“Oh God, no. I dreamed of having my own antique shop, traveling the world, buying rare old things with rich histories that bring the past to life.”
I like her dream for very obvious reasons. “Then why didn’t you?”
“Life, loyalty, my parents’ death—take your pick. But I’m not unhappy. Well, except for those goons who are trying to kill me.”
Not for long. “Did you ever consider simply selling the building and using the money to start your business?”
She shakes her head. “Not once. I think…I think that sometimes dreams are meant to give us momentum or direction, but your true calling happens along the way.” She looks up at me with her wide brown eyes. “You know what I mean?”
I know exactly what she means, though I have not found my true calling. I don’t know if it exists.
“Oh God,” she scoffs. “Listen to me babbling on and on. These meds are making me all loopy.”
“No. Don’t apologize. I rather enjoy it.”
A moment of silence passes between us, and we stare into each other’s eyes. I can’t help wonder if she feels anything.
“So, Miriam, how is your head?”
“The doctor told me she’s never seen anything like it. A complete turnaround.” Miriam leans in and speaks from the side of her mouth. “I heard her say the word miracle, but I tried not to laugh. Each to their own.”
“Yes. To their own. And besides that, how else do you feel?” I focus my thoughts on our connection, wondering if she senses it as vividly as I do.
“What are you doing with your eyes?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“The whole intense staring thing.”
She feels nothing? “Oh, I was just goofing off. You know—like us kids do.”
“You’re hardly a kid.”
Correct.
“And you should never discount yourself, no matter your age,” she adds.
Also correct. “Age is just a number, but since you brought it up, I am number one.”
She laughs, and I enjoy the sound of it.
Now, I know what most people think—that I’m feeling something for this woman, but that simply isn’t true. My kind doesn’t have romantic feelings for anyone. That’s not to say we don’t have needs of an intimate nature, but they’re no different than hunger or fatigue. It’s simply a need and nothing more. Our blood binds us to our family and gives us a sense of belonging. In some ways, it’s primitive. In other ways, the simplicity is freeing. We do not get caught up in the gray areas of the heart. We either care, or we don’t. We feel loyalty, or we don’t. We always know where we stand with one another. That’s not to say that my kind doesn’t take companions. Some even believe in soul mates, too. But they are fools, too blind to see it’s merely their own weakness tricking them into thinking they have love-like emotions.
“I can’t wait to meet your girlfriend—what did you say her name is?” Miriam asks.
My internal glow dissipates, but I’m unsure why. “Lula.”
“And what does she do?”
“She’s an assistant.” My assistant. Which sort of makes her Miriam’s assistant.
“And where did you two meet?”
“A mutual friend introduced us.” And gave us his blood and made us into vampires. “It was your typical romance.” Aside from the fact that she’s not my girlfriend, we do not have sex—nor will we ever—but she will always be a part of my life and is extremely possessive.
“So, Miriam, what about you?”
“Me? Ummm…I’m in the middle of a custody battle for my library with a gangster, so that just about sums up my life. But I did manage to speak to the police today, after you left.”
“Oh? And what did they say?”
“The guy who hit me was dragged off by another big guy before he had the chance to finish me.”
So there were witnesses who saw me. Not good.
“Who was he—the man who saved you?” I probed.
“Hell if I know, but maybe it’s one of those situations where there’s discourse among the ranks in the cartel.”
“So you think one faction doesn’t want you dead and the other does?”
“That’s what Officer Jordan said—those gangs are constantly splitting up and going after each other.”
“Did he show you any mug shots? Give you any names?” I ask.
“He showed me a few pictures, but it wasn’t the guy.”
“And the land developer?” I ask.
“He skipped town.”
Damn. I hoped to break a few of his fingers. Regardless, I will look him up and see if he’s left any clues as to where he’s gone.
My cell rings, and I slide it from my pocket. It’s Lula. “Honey? Where are you?”
“Dammit, Michael. They’re here.” Lula is panting.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I look at Miriam. “I’ll take this in the hallway.”
She gives me a nod.
“Lula,” I whisper, “who’s there?”
“I don’t know. I’m hiding in Clive’s closet.”
What is she thinking? “That’s the first place they’ll look. Did you bring a weapon?”
“No,” she hisses.
“Are they human or other?”
“Other,” she whispers. “I can smell them.”
Unable to do a thing, I feel helpless and only have myself to blame. “Lula, listen to me. Whoever they are, they’re likely young because they’re stupid enough to sneak into our territory without permission—and you are much, much faster. Just get the hell out of there.”
“I can’t,” she whimpers. “There are five of them, and I can hear one over by the door.”
“Yes, but they don’t know you’re there yet and won’t be expecting you. Just run before they sniff you out. I know what I’m talking about.”
“I can’t,” she cries.
“Think about what Clive taught you. Think about what he said to do when you’re stuck in an impossible place. Do you remember?”
“Run first. Fight last.”
“That’s right, sweetheart. So if you won’t listen to me, listen to him. Take the phone, shove it in your pocket, count to three, and bolt for that door. Do you hear me, Lula?”
Silence.
“Lula?”
“I’m afraid, Michael.”
“I know, Lula, but you can do this. There’s a reason Clive chose you, and it’s because you’re resilient. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Then on the count of three, you run and don’t stop until you’re somewhere safe. All right?”
“Michael?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“I’m texting you the pictures now. Just in case I don’t make it out of here.”
The call ends and my stone-cold heart turns into a glacier of despair.
Crap. I hang my head only to hear my phone beep. Six pictures come through. I look at the first one, and I’m not quite sure what to make of it. But the situation has quickly gone from trying to exact justice for a murder to being terrified that I have caused one.
“Oh, Lula…”