Kate Serine: Along Came a Spider

I had my suspicions that Vlad was responsible, taunting us, leaving a trail of blood-soaked bread crumbs as part of his game to draw Red out so he could make his move and finally claim her for his own. I couldn’t prove it, but my findings would’ve been enough to send Tess after him. She had a score to settle and was determined to bring him down at any cost—even if it put her in serious danger of getting herself killed.

Which was why I’d been doctoring my reports and burying any evidence that could’ve been even remotely connected to the bloodsucker of legend.

I’d promised Nate I’d do whatever I could to keep Tess safe, and I was going to keep that promise no matter what. Not just because I’d struck a deal with Death or because Tess Little was my closest friend and more like a sister to me than my own back in Make Believe. The fact was, we Tales needed her. She was one of the only reasons we had it as good as we did in the Here and Now, and I’d protect that safety and security with my life if I had to.

“Shit,” Nate muttered. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

I turned toward the mouth of the alley and saw Red’s brand-new Range Rover screeching to a halt, a black FMA van right behind her. “I’ll get what I can from the victim,” I told Nate. “Then you can take his soul.”

Nate gave me a tight nod, then headed toward Red, starting his apology before he’d even reached her. I grinned for a moment, imagining the kind of hell Nate was catching, then turned back to the victim. The dead man was a Tale—the auralike impression Tales could sense in one another still hovered around him, although it was growing faint. I analyzed the blurring edges. He’d been dead only about an hour.

Damn, Nate was fast.

I squatted down in front of the victim and carefully lifted his suit jacket, looking for a wallet or some other form of identification, but he’d been stripped of anything that could make my job easy.

Figures.

I braced my elbows on my thighs and took a deep breath, preparing for what came next. The man’s eyes were wide open, glazed over with that faraway gaze that was unique to the dead. Swallowing my nerves and pushing my fear aside, I locked onto his gaze and felt the connection taking hold.

Now for the fun part.

In seconds, I was drifting into the dead man’s psyche, latching on to the last impressions seared into his memory before his light had been snuffed out.

The images came fast and furious: Tingling on his tongue as the Cristal slipped past his lips. Euphoria and arousal. Blurred faces of two women—grotesque and surreal, like reflections in fun house

mirrors—pawing at his clothing, pushing him down onto the bed, bright red fingernails clawing at his chest, then slipping past his waistband to roughly caress. Animalistic sounds of lovemaking and release. Then—just as he was collapsing into postcoital exhaustion—fangs plunging deep into his jugular, drawing out his blood with a snarl that reverberated through him, a persistent buzz vibrating just below his skin. He wanted to scratch, tear it out, but his limbs were paralyzed. He couldn’t move. The terror pumped adrenaline into his system in a fervid rush, making his heart pound furiously against his breast.

Panic rose up from the depth of his gut and he tried to scream, but no sound came. More fangs sank into his skin, drawing away his life one great pull at a time. He was drifting now, the images growing dark as death edged closer. He was cold, could no longer feel his toes, his fingertips, his legs. . . . As the shadows drew closer, an image came to him of a beautiful woman who moved with feline grace, and regret brought tears to his eyes. He felt a single warm tear slip from the corner of his eye and marked its path as it trickled across his temple and toward his ear. And then—

“Hey, Trish.”

I started so violently, I toppled over, ass-planting on the pavement. “Damn it, McCain!” I snapped, casting an irritated glance toward the Enforcer who’d interrupted my connection and stolen the dead man’s final image from me. “You can’t interrupt me when I’m reading the dead.”

“Ah, hell—I’m sorry,” he said, having the good grace to look contrite. “Go ahead and do what you need to do. I won’t say a word.”

“Won’t work,” I grumbled, pushing up to my feet and waving away his offer of help. “I only get one shot.” I brushed the dirty snow from the back of my coat and looked over at McCain, taking him in at a glance. Black male. Close-cropped hair. Brown eyes. Athletic build. Six feet two inches, two hundred twenty pounds of lean muscle. After nearly two years with the FMA, he was still considered the new guy. The kid was doing everything he possibly could to try to impress the higher-ups but hadn’t quite made the marks yet.

“Was there something you needed, McCain?” I asked, trying to be patient as he stood there, rocking a little on his heels.

He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets. “Red sent me. She thought maybe you’d like—”

I held up my hand, cutting him off. “Let me stop you right there, sparky, before you embarrass yourself,” I said, my tone a little pitying. “I’m not going out with you.”

He blinked at me. “What?”

I sighed. “Listen, I know Tess totally busts your balls and makes you nervous as hell, but I think you’re doing a pretty amazing job. And, I’ll admit, you’re seriously good-looking and seem to be a great guy—you know, once you get past the constant ass-kissing.”

His brows came together. “Um, thanks.”

“So, really, it’s nothing personal,” I explained. “You’re the tenth guy she’s tried to set me up with in the last few months, but I’m married to the job. I don’t have time for a personal life. So, you can tell Red thanks, but I don’t need her to play matchmaker just because she’s happy and wants all of her friends to be happy, too.”

He nodded. “Okay. I can do that. But she only sent me down here to see if you wanted some coffee. She’s sending me on a Starbucks run since it looks like we’ll be here awhile.”

I felt the heat rising in my face. “Oh.”

Alex jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “So . . . you, uh, need anything then?”

I stripped off my latex gloves and wiped my wrist against my forehead. “Yeah. Thanks. That’d be great. Cream, no sugar.”

He looked a little uncomfortable for a moment as if trying to figure out how to gracefully make his exit. “So, I guess I’ll just . . .”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks.”

As soon as he turned away, I let my head fall back and closed my eyes for a moment. “Nice, Trish,” I murmured. “Way to make an ass of yourself.”

When I opened my eyes again, I glanced down toward the opening of the alley where Nate stood with Red, his body half wrapped around hers, a protective posture they often shared. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her chin tilted up and away from him in anger, but it was mostly for show at this point. She just wasn’t quite ready to let him off the hook yet. Then, as I watched, Nate bent and pressed a tender kiss to Red’s brow and rested his hand on her belly. In response, she turned and gave him a pert look but accepted his brief kiss, letting him know she’d forgive him, but he’d be making it up to her as soon as they got home. I looked away again before envy could take hold, and turned back to the dead man, wondering who the beautiful woman was who’d invaded his thoughts before dying.

Was she his lover? Wife? Unrequited love?

With a twinge of sadness I wondered what beloved face would bring me comfort in my dying moments. Whose eyes would I picture and long to see just once more? It was a question I’d asked myself over and over again since coming over, but the answer never changed. I’d had a few lovers over the years, both Tale and Ordinary, but no matter who I’d let into my life, there was no one else who’d ever come to mind.