Cat Adams - Blood Song

police.”

The larger man grimaced at the thought of us standing here, in the hal , in ful sight of any guests who

might pass by. But I was too paranoid right then to go anywhere with someone I didn’t know. Hel , I was

having a hard enough time with people I already knew.

Yes, they looked like hotel security, but no, I wasn’t taking any chances. Besides, the odds of anyone

actual y being up and wandering the hal s at this time of day were minimal. So long as we stayed quiet

and didn’t wake anyone, everything should be just ducky.

The shorter man reached to the smal black box affixed to his belt and began speaking very quietly to

the dispatcher downstairs. It only took a few minutes for someone to cal the police, confirm my story,

and get a detailed description of my appearance.

“ A sanctioned vampire hunt, huh?” The big man looked down at me with some surprise. Apparently

he wasn’t used to the idea of women being hunters. It also isn’t easy to get the authorities to give you

the nod. They’re jaded about that sort of thing. I suppose it comes from al of the idiots and teenagers

who go out and get drunk, then think they can take on the bats.

“Looks like you got him.” His voice was low and respectful as he gestured at my bloodstained jeans.

“Got one, anyway.”

“There was more than one?” The shorter man sounded surprised. Obviously he’d never had to deal

with vampires. His partner, however, was more savvy.

“Aren’t there always?” The big guy shook his head sadly. “It’s why I stopped hunting. If you don’t get

them al the first time, it just pisses the survivors off. You do not want to deal with a pissed-off bat.”

“Think they’l be coming here?” The boy sounded both nervous and eager. He was so damned young.

Or maybe I was just getting old. There’s more to age than chronology.

The big man shook his head. “It’s daylight, John. The bats are al dead in their coffins for now. But

we’l cal Maintenance, have the wards upped just in case.” He glanced down at the pale tan carpet that

was now stained with a trail of drying blood in the shape of my shoes. Oops. “And Housekeeping.

They’l want to get the carpet cleaned before the rest of the guests get up and moving.”

He gave me a curt nod as I slid the plastic room key into its slot. “Good luck, Ms. Graves.” His

expression grew very serious. “I hope you get the rest of them before they get you.”

“Thanks. So do I.”

I tried not to think too hard about his words as I stepped into the room and immediately slapped the DO

NOT DISTURB sign onto the doorknob. That done, I ducked into the bathroom and stripped off my clothing. I

didn’t want to think. I wanted a hot shower, a stiff drink, and sleep. Oh, God, how I wanted sleep. Yes, I

was worried about Matteo and Bruno, but my body was on the verge of col apse. Only sheer

stubbornness and fear of what might jump me unawares was keeping me upright. I needed rest; I was

practical y useless. But I was afraid of what might happen if I gave in and closed my eyes. I stepped

into the shower. The clothes were trashed. I had no idea what I was going to wear when I left this room,

but I’d worry about that later. Right now I was cold and shaky from exhaustion and nerves. No big

surprise. I’m one of those folks who do great during the crisis, then fal apart afterward, when the

adrenaline drains off. I’d managed to hold it together long enough to get behind a locked door, but I was

done. Stick a fork in me, not only done but also burned to a crackly, crunchy done. I turned the shower

on ful blast, hot as I could stand it on ful -body massage, and stepped in, letting the water sluice over

me in torrents, washing away blood, sweat, and, yes, tears.

I don’t know how long I was in there. Long enough that my skin turned wrinkly. My water heater at

home would’ve given out from the strain. But when I stepped out and dried off I felt better. Not good.

That would’ve been expecting too much. But definitely better. I wrapped myself in a towel and stepped

into the dim confines of the main room.

I sank onto the edge of the bed and grabbed the telephone. Hitting the button for an outside line, I

dialed Bruno’s cel number. It was answered on the first ring.

“’Lo.”

“Bruno?” It didn’t sound like Bruno. The voice was too low, with a basso rumble to it that seemed

vaguely familiar but that I couldn’t quite place.

“Who is this?”

“Celia.”

“Ah, Graves. I shoulda known. Hang on a sec. Sal wants to talk to ya.”

Sal—as in Uncle Sal. Oh, crap. I’d been talking to Bruno’s cousin, Little Joey. No wonder the voice

had sounded familiar. I’d only met him once, but he’s the kind of guy who leaves an indelible

impression.

A smooth baritone came onto the line. His voice was pleasant and cultured. Almost exactly like King

Dahlmar. A part of me was absolutely positive Uncle Sal would sound pleasant and cultured ordering

someone to break your kneecaps. Not that he would ever do such a terrible, wicked thing. The Italian

Mafia was an invention of the media. Total fabrication.

Right.

Stil , whatever else you may say or believe about him, Uncle Sal never loses his cool. “Hel o, Celia.”

“Hel o, Mr. DeGarmo.”

“I assume you cal ed to check on my nephews?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Matteo came through the surgery just fine. He’s stable. The next few hours wil make al the

difference.” He paused, and I waited, twitchy with nerves, for him to continue.

“They’d drugged him pretty heavy, but he woke up about a half hour before dawn. Said she was

cal ing him. Even drugged and on holy ground, he could hear her. He says her name is Lilith.”

Oh, shit. She had enough control of his mind to introduce herself? That was so not good.

“But he didn’t try to go. Said he could hear her, but he didn’t feel a pul , even though he remembered

getting bit.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding in a rush.

“Bruno tel s me it was you who thought to look for the bite and clean it with holy water?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That was smart.” He paused, like he wasn’t real y surprised. “Thank you.”

I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. I mean, I would’ve done it for anybody. But he was thanking me,

and I had to say something. “You’re welcome. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Maybe not at the time, but it wound up being important. So I’m going to give you some advice.”

Al right then. Advice from Uncle Sal is like hearing from E. F. Hutton. He talks. You listen.

“Don’t be coming down to the hospital. Bruno’d be glad to see you. Hel , Matty would, too, after that.

But my sister … not so much. I’l tel the boys you cal ed.”

“They admitted Bruno ?” I was surprised. He hadn’t been hurt. A little shocky, but I hadn’t thought he’d

been that bad off.

“Exhaustion, overstraining his magic.” Sal chuckled. “I told him to stay put. He didn’t like it much. First

time he’s ever real y argued with me. He wants to go after the bat that did this, but he’s not up to it. Not

right now.” He gave a meaningful pause. “Neither are you. Daylight or no.”

I wasn’t going to argue. He was right. Some of the real y old vamps don’t need much rest at al . A

couple hours and they were as fresh as a daisy. They might not go out in daylight, but you couldn’t