Barb Hendee - Blood Memories

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Eleisha Clevon has the face of a teen angel, but she is no angel. Unlike most vampires, she doesn't like to kill, but self-preservation comes first.
When an old friend destroys himself by walking into sunlight right in front of her, Eleisha is shocked. And what she finds afterwards points to how very sick of his existence her friend had become — piling drained corpses in the basement and keeping records of other vampires' real names and addresses. That's a problem.
Because now, there are policemen on the case: two very special humans with some gifts of their own. They know who Eleisha is, and, even more dangerous, what she is.

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"Is he coming?" I asked once Philip hung up.

"Soon."

I glanced away, not sure whether to be frightened or relieved.

"You know," Philip said suddenly, "once we settle this matter with Julian, we don't have to go up north. We could go to France."

"Even Paris?"

"Anywhere."

I'd never been to Paris. The thought calmed me, made me smile. "What's it like?"

"Good hunting. Few rules." He seemed about to go on when something unreadable shifted his expression.

"What's wrong?"

He turned pale, his features twisted, and he stumbled on an ottoman. Before I could move to help, Wade pushed inside my head.

Where are you, Leisha ?

Stay away! I'm not alone .

Philip regained composure and snarled, then bolted for the door. I darted in front of it, blocking his exit. "Wait. Just listen to me."

"That's your little pet, isn't it? You've been lying! He's completely psychic, isn't he?"

"Not like it seems."

"That black-haired cop was psychometric, eh? And I believed you. You've been telling this little friend of yours all about us, haven't you?"

"No, and I didn't lie. But if you had known Wade could read minds, you would have killed him that first night."

"Of course! As you should have!"

"He helped me. Just meet him. Just talk to him."

"You aren't serious."

"Please don't hurt him. He aimed a gun at his partner for me."

"Well, isn't that what you do? Get weak-minded men to slay dragons for you?"

Cold, cruel, and inhuman, Philip's eyes flashed rage at me. He possessed so many different sides. Could I ever keep up? This was a worst-case scenario, defending one person who mattered from another person who mattered.

Someone knocked.

My legs froze. "Wade, is that you?"

"Open the door."

Philip brushed past me, jerked the door open, and grasped Wade's throat. This was too much.

"Philip, I fed you last night!"

He stopped, hand now up in Wade's white-blond hair.

"Don't do it," I said. "Just let him in. For me."

He stepped back slowly, as though with great effort. I knew the only thing holding him back was his strange desire that I remain in his company. The room felt small with all three of us standing in it.

A wave of anger swept through me. What did Wade think he was doing?

"You ditched me without a word," he spat.

Incredible. With a blood-crazed six-foot vampire standing right next to him, he wanted to argue about forgotten good-byes?

"Is that what you're here for?" I asked. "An explanation?"

"To start, yes."

"After everything I've done to try and save you? Who was stupid enough to give you a PhD?"

Our familiarity disconcerted Philip. Unlike Maggie, he'd probably never spent more than a few hours with any one mortal. "Your partner's dead," he snapped. "Staked through the heart. Quite poetic."

Wade didn't even flinch. "I know. I just buried him."

"Where?" Philip asked.

"In Maggie's backyard, behind the trees. I buried his gun, too, and I washed the living room floor. Then I moved his car four miles away."

"What possible reason could you have?"

"Eleisha."

I flinched. I had no response to Wade's actions. My instinct had been to leave the body on Maggie's floor and let the police try to figure out what happened after we left the country. Maybe Wade was right to bury the evidence? It also occurred to me that Wade himself would certainly be picked up for questioning… and I had not thought of that before. So was he working to save himself or me?

Looking up at his face… I believed he was protecting me.

But no one asked for his help. No one asked him to hang around and clean up my mess. And it must have hurt to see Dominick like that. Nevertheless, he'd done it, and now he was standing up to Philip-not an easy feat.

"If you've been at the house burying Dominick all this time," I asked, "how did you find us just now?"

He hesitated. "How much does golden boy know?"

That struck me as half humorous, half dangerous. "His name is Philip, and I wish he knew you a lot better than he does."

Philip's eyes softened, some of the cruelty fading. "This won't work, little one. He has to die. You know that."

"No, he doesn't. Just sit down on the couch, both of you." I was desperate. "Wade, let him read your past, what Dom used to be like. Show him how, like you showed me."

Both of them jumped slightly, stunned speechless. I looked to Wade. "Burying Dominick means nothing. No one asked you to do that. But do this for me. Please, do this thing for me."

Without a word, he walked to the couch. I almost sagged in relief.

But instead, I whirled back around. "Philip, it's easy. You don't have to touch him. Just sit down and look inside his head."

"No," he said harshly. "You kill him, or I will."

"Just look at his thoughts!"

"Why?"

"Because if you do, I won't care what happens next. If you do this for me, I'll let you tear his throat out and not blame or hate you."

He tensed, staring down at me uncertainly. I'd just offered him the one thing he wanted.

This was a bet, a gambit on my part. If some higher power had let me choose any two companions in the world, I must admit my choices would have been Edward and Maggie. But they were gone. Mourning or missing them didn't help. Somehow I thought if Philip became psychically involved with Wade-and vice versa-the two of them might be okay together, not friends exactly, but not enemies.

Besides, Philip needed a glimpse of humanity. He had long since stopped thinking of mortals as sentient beings, viewing them as little more than toys in his personal playground.

"You ask too much," he said quietly, "more than you know."

"I won't enter your thoughts," Wade said. "And if your ability works like Eleisha's, you'll be able to block me after the first second or two anyway."

"Don't speak to me until asked." Philip wouldn't even look at him. "You should have been dead five minutes ago."

This was getting us nowhere. What was Philip so afraid of? I'd known him only three days-an intense three days. He didn't strike me as the type to back away from something new. Last night I'd actually used my psychic ability as a weapon against Dominick. Until experimenting with Wade, a mental attack would never have occurred to me. This new gift could be useful. But for some reason, instinctive perhaps, I hadn't told Philip the extent of my growing telepathy, or even mentioned it to him. Why?

"Do this one thing for me," I repeated. "Please."

"Afterward, when I kill him, you won't hate me? Once we see Julian, you'll forget all this and come to France?"

"Yes."

How did Wade feel, hearing his life discussed as a bargaining chip? His face was unreadable.

Philip walked slowly to the couch and sat down, looking disgusted and uncomfortable. "What do I do?"

"Look at me," Wade answered. "Imagine your eyes are fingers pushing inside my head, searching for pictures."

They stopped speaking. With rapt interest, I watched Philip's face. Could he do it?

Expecting both their expressions to go blank, I was stunned when Wade began crying. Philip, of course, had no tear ducts, but a sobbing choke escaped his mouth. Is this what Wade and I had done while lost down histories past? Did we feel each experience in our forgotten bodies?

Their faces both shifted into faint smiles. What were they seeing now? Perhaps I was wrong to observe this private exchange. Wade had unselfishly given up the core of his most hidden self simply because I asked him to.

Telling myself every few moments to get up and leave them alone, I stood there for over an hour, gauging every flicker, every twitch, wondering what memory had passed by.

A Japanese vase overflowing with freshly cut red and yellow flowers sat on the table behind them. Wade's near-white hair contrasted sharply against the bright tones, and Philip's blended perfectly. Bizarre pair, these two men. One ruled by unrealistic concepts of right and wrong, the other by incomprehensible physical drives. Maggie would have laughed at them.

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