Jeanne Stein - Retribution

“No problem. Let’s go.” She pulls a small penknife from the pocket of the coat and runs the blade over her tongue. She runs her tongue over her lips, smearing them with blood. “I’m ready.”

When she smiles, my insides start to quake.

I’m ready, too.

Brooke stomps off to another part of the house. A slamming door makes me think if Ortiz expects to get anything from Brooke in the near future, sex or blood, he’s going to have to do some serious groveling.

Ortiz recovers enough to offer Edie and me the use of a guest room. He escorts us down a hallway, opens the door, and leaves us to, I assume, begin the groveling.

As soon as the bedroom door closes behind us, Edie tosses the raincoat onto a chair and lays down. She stretches her hands over her head and grabs onto the headboard. Her body is long and lush. She licks her lips again, the blood is bright red and shines like liquid rubies.

I find myself licking my own lips.

I take off my jacket and lay it over her coat on the chair.

It’s all I take off.

I perch myself on the side of the bed, suddenly feeling foolish and uncertain what to do next.

My throat tightens when I try to speak. I make a ridiculous croaking sound.

Edie laughs. “Are you nervous? I can’t believe it. You don’t have to be, you know. I’ve done this before—with men and women.”

She waits for me to say something. I don’t know what to say. I’ve fed from women before at Beso de la Muerte, but there it ’s a controlled situation and neither of us is naked.

She props herself up, leaning back on her elbows, and studies my face. “You’ve never had sex with a woman, have you?”

And I don’t intend to now. I swallow a few times to make sure what comes out of my mouth won ’t be another undignified croak and say, “Edie, I don’t think this is going to work. I can’t give you what you want.”

She tilts her head. The bloody tip of her tongue flicks toward me like an invitation. “But I can give you what you want. Why don’t we give it a try?”

She turns on her side and lifts her hair, offering me her neck. The smell of her, pheromones, blood, a hint of lavender, melts my resolve. I lay down and fit my body against hers.

The vampire in me is ready, responding with a snarl and a sharp intake of breath. I hold her, one hand at her neck, one around her waist.

She pushes back against me, rubbing her body against mine. I feel her shudder, feel her excitement through my clothes.

I nuzzle her neck, find her pulse point with my tongue. All my senses throb with anticipation. When I open her neck and begin to drink, she moans. She takes my hand and pushes it down, between her legs, holding it there with her own. I ’m lost in my own passion; I don’t fight her. A kaleidoscope of exploding sensations turns my world bloodred with heat and pleasure.

I drink.

It’s all there is in the world. Hunger to be sated. The blood, her blood, warms me, fills me, completes me.

I’m sorry when it’s time to stop.

Reluctantly, though, I drag myself back, withdraw my teeth from her neck, use my tongue to close the wounds.

All the while, she’s writhing against me, moaning, her hands manipulating mine. When my fingers slip inside her, she cries out. She ’s hot and wet and feels like silk. Her orgasm builds, powerful, pulsing. I feel it. A new sensation for me. Not entirely unpleasant. I finger her until she comes. I’m no longer reluctant and no longer afraid. It seems the least I can do—give her sex.

Didn’t she just give me life?

WHEN I WAS HUMAN, I’D FALL ASLEEP AFTER SEX. It’s what Edie does now. She has a half smile on her face, a look of contentment. I cover her with a quilt from the foot of the bed and watch for a moment. The vampire is content; the human Anna wonders what the hell just happened.

I close the bedroom door behind me.

Ortiz and Brooke are nowhere to be found. The house is quiet. I let myself out.

What a bizarre way to start the morning. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at Ortiz the same way again. But the anxiety that had been building with the hunger is gone. I’m clearheaded, refreshed.

Horny.

Too bad Lance is in New York.

Too bad I have a witch to kill.

I call Frey’s cell phone to check in.

Sandra picks up.

Her voice on his phone causes a ripple of alarm. “Where’s Frey?”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “He’s sleeping.”

“And Culebra?”

She sighs. “The same. Any news?”

“I’m heading back to the warehouse now. I’ll get that receptionist to talk if I have to scare the shit out of her to do it.”

After I’ve finished, Sandra waits a beat to say, “Hurry, Anna.”

It’s all there in her voice—concern, uneasiness, fear. What isn’t there is the antipathy she displayed toward me when I showed up two days ago. I ring off without bringing it up. When Burke is dead, when Culebra and Frey are safe, there will be time for us to talk.

It’s not yet seven. Too early to head for the warehouse. I doubt the office staff reports before eight. I still have those two women Williams’ identified as the blood-hungry pair who attacked their dates. The pictures are on the seat beside me. One has an address not far from Ortiz’ house. I’ll head there first.

I’m doing the thing I hate seeing others do, holding the pic up against the steering wheel while I drive so I can read the notes printed on the back. The first woman’s name is Valerie Storm. The before picture shows a heavyset forty-six-year-old with dishwater blond hair. The woman in the after picture looks twenty-six with a good bleach job and glamour-shot makeup.

Maybe that’s Burke’s secret. Diet and a dynamite makeup artist.

Valerie Storm lives on Hilltop Drive. It’s a nice neighborhood. I’m halfway down the block when police cars scream up behind me. Shit.

Did Ortiz send these guys after me? Is he so pissed that I ruined his playdate he’s having me arrested for that woman Burke dumped in my bed? I pull over, shoulders tight with aggravation. If he did this—

But the cars don’t stop. They keep going. After a second, I do, too, still looking for Valerie’s address.

I should have simply followed the police cars. We all end up at the same place.

There are three police cars at Valerie’s, one in the driveway, one in the street, one on the front lawn. The cops in the two that passed me are racing toward the front door. I pull up across the street and watch. Neighbors are beginning to venture out to see what all the commotion is about. I join them.

The chatter among the neighbors tells me that the Storms are nice people, that no one can imagine trouble in the family, that if there was trouble, it probably had something to do with Valerie’s remarkable transformation from suburban duckling to bombshell swan.

One of the men makes a comment about the transformation that earns him an elbow in the ribs from another of those suburban ducklings.

She must be his wife.

It gets quiet when the coroner’s wagon pulls up. The attendants go inside, followed a minute later by a man in a suit. I recognize him. San Diego’s medical examiner. Either Valerie or someone in her family is dead.

My money is on Valerie.

The second of Burke’s test subjects to turn up dead.

My stomach is queasy with the speculation that I may be responsible. Didn’t Burke say she wanted to play a game with me? See how clever I was? I know she’s capable of murder—she killed an innocent out of spite when Frey and I stopped her demon -raising last Halloween. But why is she killing the very women who are living proof of the effectiveness of her wonder cream? If her plan is to implicate me in their murders, I can’t see how she’ll do it. They have no connection to me. Even with her power, I doubt she could conjure up the kind of evidence necessary to make it look like they did.