Anthony Francis - Frost Moon

His lips parted, and I felt the side of his fangs pressed against my jugular, just above the collar. My blood pounded in my ears, thrummed though my neck, and I felt a warm, distant drumbeat echoing across the magical ink woven through my tattoos-Lord Delancaster's heart. The drumbeat grew louder and louder, and I squirmed on the seat, sinking back against him, curling my toes. A new drumbeat joined the jungle rhythm, one I instinctively recognized as Savannah's; and I opened my eyes to see Savannah's slender extended arm, and Lord Delancaster draw his lips aside from my neck to drink the blood from her proffered spoon.

The silvery spoon drew back from his lips, and Delancaster closed his eyes in bliss. Apparently chocolate ice cream had nothing on blood. Then Delancaster leaned away. "I have her pulse," he said. "Yes, I have it."

I looked down sharply, clearing my head. Savannah, looking as sad as a cat whose food bowl had been swiped away, held a white cotton ball over my finger, and was unsuccessfully trying to unwrap a Band-Aid with her other hand. "Doug, a hand here."

"Whoa," I said. My forehead was feverish, and I felt sweaty.

"I have tasted your aura, drunk your blood, felt the beat of your heart," Lord Delancaster said, stepping back to the center of the room. "If any vampire I meet has drunk your blood, or taken your life, I will know it. In honesty, I will very likely know if they were to spoil you. I will make this known that you have the protection of the House of Saffron, but the ban of the Lord of Georgia as well."

"Swell," I said, a bit woozy. I shook my head, and the room swam. "Swell."

"Before I return to my Halloween party," Lord Delancaster said, stepping back to retrieve his cane, "is there anything else you want to protect?"

"Isn't my blood, my life and my sex enough?" I asked. I took a deep breath, tried to get a grip on myself. He hadn't even broken the skin, and I'd damn near had an orgasm-no wonder mortals got so easily seduced by vampires. "Seems, ah, seems pretty comprehensive-"

"What if they decided to take their anger out on one of your friends?" he said, and I swallowed, pulling at the collar. "Or did something as childish as trashing your car? I'm sorry, but immature vampires can be petty… and creative. We do need to be specific."

"A young witch recommended this to me," I said. The sudden surge of adrenaline was doing a better job of clearing my head than my own efforts had. "Skye 'Jinx' Anderson. And I drive a POS Vespa, but I don't want that trashed either."

"I don't know all modern car makes," he said. "Is POS the model number or-"

"Piece of Shit," I said, "and it's a scooter, license plate

"I saw it," he said, closing his eyes briefly, as if recalling and re- memorizing every detail. "Is there anything else you'd like to protect?"

Abruptly I flashed on Richard Sumners-he'd insured his hands for a million dollars. What the hell? It couldn't hurt. "Just my hands. I'm a tattoo artist."

"Your life, blood, and sex; your friend, scooter, and hands," he said, reciting the odd list in complete seriousness. "I think that is as extensive, and as specific, as we can make the ban; but it will have to do."

"Thanks," I said.

He took my hand, raised it, and kissed it chastely. "Remember, this protection only lasts in the inner city. Outside the Perimeter, the vampires can no longer protect you.. So please, do not forget: if you travel outside the circle of I-285, you should stick to the safe places that humans instinctively gather in-or else you will run into creatures far more dangerous than either vampires or werewolves."

My lip pursed up. "Thank you, Lord Delancaster."

I still couldn't wrap my head around the vampires being Atlanta's force of supernatural law and order.

The werehouse stood at the edge of the Chattahoochee, a bombed-out vestige of ironworks damaged beyond hope of repair on the river's slimy banks. The entrance was an unlikely path struggling down an embankment of a bridge crossing, a trail so trampled that the earth opened up in a jagged wound of red clay. Trash was piled everywhere, cigarette butts, beer bottles, ants swarming over mustard packets spilling out of a discarded Chick-fil-A bag. I gagged. I couldn't stand the smell. I couldn't imagine how the weres did either.

No doubt it was a steal on the rent.

The moon was swelling close to whole-what did that make it? New? Gibbous?-and I heard a soft thump as the vamp guard I'd been told to expect jumped down behind me.

"Ah-ah-ah," a soft, velvety voice said, almost near enough to taste. You could almost hear him wagging his finger. "You don't want to go down that path at this hour, mortal."

I turned, and the vampire cringed at the blaze of my cross.

"Jeez!" he said, half choking on the word.

"Sorry," I said, slipping the cross back under my shirt. I squared off with the vampire, hands jammed into the buttery leather of my trench vest, letting my tattoos gleam in the silver of the streetlight. "You must be Insomnia?" I said, hoping I got his name right.

I was wrong.

The little vampire punk quit cringing and glared, drawing himself to his full height, pale, made-up face falling as he realized I still towered a half a head over him, even counting his ridiculous teased hair that made him look like an albino member of the Flock of Seagulls. His face fell even further as he realized I was not the least bit intimidated.

How could I be? A vampire in makeup, designed to make him look more like a vampire? Total poseur. He looked like he shopped at Hot Topic-not that I don't-and had even gotten mud on the hems of his bondage pants, the ones with the cheap plastic handcuffs and glittering chains that are supposed to look all Goth and edgy. And this was supposed to be a guard?

"I," he said pretentiously, fake accent and all, "am the Vampire Transomnia."

"Dakota Frost," I replied, and the rest of him deflated. "I was sent by Jinx to see the Marquis, and I travel under the protection of the Lady Saffron, Queen of Little Five Points." I tugged at the metal collar once or twice to make sure he saw it.

The little vampire glowered at me-ok, perhaps not little, most likely average height for a guy-and I hopped down from the slight ridge to land in the clearing next to him, hoping that reducing the height difference would set him at ease. It didn't help. The proximity apparently made me even more threatening. His lips parted in a slow sigh, tips of his canines pointed past human, eyes glinting in his pale pudgy face like black olives shoved into the surface of a puff pastry.

"Saffron protects you?" he said, hot breath curling on the air, a dull red glow building in his eyes. I suddenly realized I was within arms' reach of a vampire-a scrawny, poseur, threatened, insulting vampire who wanted a pissing match. "You could have done better than to ally yourself with that… maid."

His lip curled further, and the bit of dried blood at the root of his fangs erased any illusions as to whether he'd been the one to eat the fast food from the sack tossed on the ground. Christ, he'd fed, not minutes ago, and not from the drive-thru window. He'd been sloppy about it. I hoped to God it had been a rat, but…

I swallowed and slowly took my hands out of my pockets- empty. Showing him I wasn't carrying a stake or something.

"I didn't have a choice," I said. "I live in her district."

"No, you had a choice," he said, his lip twisting up into a mocking sneer. "Not to come here. Now that you have… you have to pay the toll."

I raised my hands. "I'll use a different entrance-"

"Too late," he said, grin widening, both fangs now exposed. "You're already under the bridge, and I'm the troll."