Blood and Kisses (13 page)
Gideon nodded weakly. His chest rose and fell irregularly, like the surface of a storm-stirred sea.
A red-hot shaft of pain stabbed through Thalia. Lose Gideon? She bit her lip to keep from crying out against the wave of fear. She stiffened. How had Gideon become so important to her in such a short time?
“Thalia.” Gideon’s voice, little more than a hoarse whisper, jerked her back to attention. He was terribly pale. His forehead shone with sweat. “There are first aid supplies in the bathroom.”
When she returned, Gideon had mercifully lost consciousness. Hands shaking, she threaded the needle and began the nerve-wracking process of closing the wound.
“How well did you know Grace Brown?” Detective Cole locked her hazel eyes on Thalia’s face, as if, with enough willpower, she could read her mind. The finely aged leather of the sofa Cole and her lanky partner were sitting on creaked as she leaned forward to hear Thalia’s reply.
Thalia shook her head. “Not very well. She came into the bar now and then. I didn’t even know her last name.” She sat in a matching armchair across from the sofa in Gideon’s masculine study.
Her eyes flicked to the highly decorated face of the tall grandfather clock anchoring the far corner of the room. Sunset was still hours away. How was Gideon doing upstairs? Damn, she wished they’d speed this up.
She’d been hurriedly eating with Spirit when the doorbell had rung. The detectives had looked surprised to see her there. She’d met both in passing through her job and they’d struck her as conscientious by-the-book types. Their input on one of her bread-and-butter cases would have been welcome, but right now, she just wanted to get them out of there.
Thank heaven Gideon was able to wake during the day, although severe blood loss left him far from his peak. It was a miracle he could wake at all.
And the blood that had welled up each time she punctured his skin with the needle... Thalia concealed a shudder and struggled to keep her face relaxed. Against her wishes, the large idiot would be down any minute. He’d telepathically asked her to stall the pair while he dressed.
“You’re a regular at this club, the Bell, Book, and Candle
,
also called the Tomb?” Cole raised red eyebrows, and ran an astute eye over Thalia’s clothing, implying Thalia hardly seemed like the type.
“So is everyone I know.”
The detective made an indistinct sound under her breath and a note on her notepad. The pen clicked softly against the paper as she worked. Her tongue caught between her teeth with concentration.
Detective Poole rose from the couch and went to the window. He drew back the heavy brocade of the curtain. “Cole,” he said as he discovered the metal shutter.
The other detective stood and crossed the room to examine the shutter. “What is this?” She tapped the metal with a peach-polished fingernail and turned to Thalia, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“I suffer from migraines.” Gideon’s rich voice seemed to fill the room, playing over Thalia’s ears like the last low note of a cello, sensitizing each nerve ending. Her heart stuttered before resuming a steady, though fast, pace.
He stood in the doorway, one hand propped on the frame. Backlit by the chandelier in the hall, his beautiful face was veiled in shadow. A dark angel come to Earth. “The sunlight can be excruciating during an attack. I’m afraid you’ve caught me at the tail end of one.”
Instantly, the detective’s face softened. Her hand flew to her throat. “Mr. Damek, I hope we haven’t disturbed you.” Her voice was heavy with sympathy. Thalia thought the woman might run over and help him to the couch and resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
It was obvious she wasn’t the only one affected by Gideon’s magnetic presence. Even Detective Poole’s body language changed. His stiff posture, arms crossed over his thin chest, back ramrod straight, yielded to a more relaxed pose, arms at his sides, body turned toward Gideon like a flower to the sun.
The police officers retook their seats on the couch, and Gideon reclined in the armchair next to Thalia’s. Cole shifted uneasily. Her voice was apologetic, her eyes begged for forgiveness, as she asked her next question. “Your next-door-neighbor says he heard your car about one a.m., Monday, but witnesses put the time you left the Bell, Book, and Candle at about eleven-thirty. Where did you go in between?”
“I stopped to get food. Wegmans, on Mt. Read,” He replied, naming a popular local grocery store chain.
Gideon’s dark eyes caught Thalia’s for a moment, and his gaze hit her like a sledgehammer, taking her breath away. His eyes gleamed red with bloodlust and pain. The two detectives didn’t seem to notice, but Thalia felt his struggle deep inside as he expertly dismissed each of their suspicions, reinforcing each answer with a subtle mental suggestion. His use of power raised swirling currents of energy she saw as shimmering veils of color hanging in the air. Transparent ribbons that waved in a nonexistent wind, green and blue and purple, as delicate and erratic as the northern lights.
By the time the detectives seemed satisfied, sweat beaded Gideon’s forehead. “I hope you don’t mind if I let Thalia walk you to the door.” Gideon raised a weak hand to his raven head. “Unfortunately, my migraine seems to be getting worse.” The extreme pallor of his skin backed up his claim, and the officers rushed to assure him that was fine, falling over each other to thank him for his assistance.
You would have thought he was a rock star.
God, she hoped she didn’t act that giddy around him.
Thalia gave a sigh of relief as she closed and locked the front door behind them. She rushed back to Gideon’s side and sank to her knees on the red, black, and gold patterned Oriental rug beside his chair. She reached out to take his hand, but he flinched away. Thalia swallowed the pain caused by his rebuff, cleared her throat, and got to her feet. “What can I do?”
“Get away from me,” he growled.
Tears sprang unbidden into her eyes, but she bit them back. His head hung, as if the effort to hold it up was too great. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close, so she could see his eyes. The faint red gleam had become a glowing red flame. “I must have blood. And I can’t take yours.”
Gideon fought the demon with every shred of control he possessed, but he lost ground with each passing moment. The scent of Thalia, the rhythmic cadence of her pulse, the bloom of her skin, all called to him like heroin to an addict. The ripe promise of her blood was only an illusion, but his starved body knew no reason.
He threw her arm away and she stumbled back, pain written clearly on her lovely face. He gripped the arms of his chair, struggling to banish the urge to seize her in his arms, sink his teeth into the succulent flesh of her neck, and drink his fill. Claws sprang from his fingertips and punctured the fine Spanish leather.
“What can I do?” she asked again.
“I’ve already depleted my stores from the blood bank. I can’t venture out until dusk. As the hours pass, I will lose my hold on my animal nature. I’m already a danger to you and even to Spirit. I will go back to my room and you will chain me to the bed.” He didn’t, couldn’t, look at her as he gave the degrading instructions. “Don’t release me, no matter what I say, until it is fully dark.” Under normal circumstances, he could withstand the soft light of twilight, but as weak as he was, the slightest hint of sunlight might turn him to dust.
“Let me call the detectives back...”
“No. I can make them forget, but they may have strange dreams. We can’t afford to make them suspicious in any way. You must do as I ask.”
Thalia shook her head mutinously, tears glistened in her eyes, but he sensed her concession. She would comply.
Leave him to suffer? Thalia desperately searched her mind for alternatives as she reluctantly fastened the special chains over Gideon and stepped away from the bed.
The elegant confines of his bedroom now resembled the bleak austerity of an asylum. She had stripped the ornaments from the surfaces and walls at his command so he couldn’t use them to escape or hurt himself. He’d clung courageously to rationality while she’d worked. A sheen of sweat had coated his forehead as he’d leaned white-knuckled against the door jam, clearly caught up in his internal struggle.
Now safely chained, the last vestige of sanity slipped from his eyes. The heated glow of bloodlust took its place. He fought against the chains, his face a mask of torment. “Go!” he snarled through his emerging fangs.
Thalia shook her head and ran from the room. She slammed the door behind her and pressed the hidden button he had showed her earlier. A soft hum followed by a loud click, announced that the latch was now reinforced by several steel rods spread evenly throughout the plane of the door. Insurance should Gideon, in his madness, snap the heavy chains.
A tear eluded her control and ran down her cheek. She dashed it away with an impatient hand. What good was she? She couldn’t even offer her blood to spare him hours of agony as he awaited the setting of the sun.
Thalia took a slow, deep breath. She might not be able to feed Gideon, but she was still the Champion and a damn good private investigator. In her rush to get him home, it was possible she had missed some vital clue that could lead her to the killer. Detective Cole hadn’t mentioned another murder. Strange that no one had found the bodies yet, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to examine the crime scene.
A thump sounded inside Gideon’s bedroom, followed by a moan that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. His chains rattled. She closed her eyes, summoning her strength. She hated to leave him, but there was nothing more she could do.
“Spirit,” she called. “Come on. We’re going out.”
One of the bodies was missing.
Thalia squatted over the remaining body in the alley. She’d covered her hair with a cap and wore a cheap plastic coverall, intended for house painters, over her clothes. Latex gloves shielded her hands.
There had been two bodies here last night. Where had the other one gone?
It was Saturday and traffic was light, but she masked her presence with a small spell. Anyone looking her way would see a person, but her shape and size would be blurry and indistinct. She would have preferred to use an invisibility spell, but she would need every bit of energy she could get when it came time to release Gideon.
Spirit sat a distance away, careful not to contaminate the crime scene with his own unique hairs.
The victim lay face down in her nest of garbage. Thalia flipped her over. “Oh, my God.” It was Kimmy Simpson, her throat slashed. The wound was deep, gaped open like some gory double mouth.
She had known this might happen, but confronted with the reality, her hands trembled.
The rogue had killed a witch.
“Oh, Kimmy. Why didn’t you stay with Ashley and Maureen?”
Tears pricked her eyelids. Their young lives would never be the same. No one would ever call them the three musketeers again.
She took a deep breath, forcing her mind back to business and stood. “Do you smell anything?”
Spirit’s chocolate eyes narrowed and his ears flattened, his coat bright chestnut orange in the brilliant sunlight. He scented the hot summer air, turning his head from left to right, nostrils flaring.
“Blood. Not Gideon’s, not the woman’s.” He paused. “And something else. Decay.”
Thalia nodded, remembering the overpowering stench that had accompanied the rogue the previous night. Nothing like Gideon’s intoxicating scent, it must be a by-product of the Claiming.
“Can you follow it?”
“Of course.” Spirit’s voice was curt, his lithe body stiff, as if he were insulted that she even had to ask. He trotted toward the corner and stopped, looking back over his shoulder. “Coming?” he said arrogantly, and she could see a glimpse of the mage he’d once been. She snuffed the beginnings of a smile and followed.
They walked for several miles. Thalia began to get winded. A drop of perspiration ran down the back of her neck, and she resisted the impulse to stop and remove her coveralls.
Their journey took them into a neighborhood riddled with abandoned houses. Yards filled with junk guarded structures on the verge of collapse. They seemed to lean toward one another as if in search of support. Children played in the street and scuffled on the bare dirt of the verge, kicking up clouds of dust with their sneakers. The owners of the few occupied houses watched silently as Thalia and Spirit went past, the spell still in effect.
The late evening sun was low now, battling through the gaps between houses and reflecting off broken windows. Red, just like Gideon’s eyes had been when she’d last seen him.
Gideon.
She shuddered as she remembered the moans and pleas coming from behind the locked door as she’d gathered her things to leave. That heavenly voice begging her to release him, to let him feed. To give him her blood, no matter what the cost.
If she freed him in person, he would fall on her like a wild beast. But if she weren’t present, he might attack the first person he saw, perhaps even kill him.
She would have to be there. She prayed her powers were strong enough to control him until he was sated and his reason returned.
“The trail ends here.” Spirit placed a white paw on the first of the dusty gray boards that led up to a slumping front porch. Thalia glanced up at the house, which must have once been white. Now its siding sagged like the skin of an elephant, pulling away from the exterior walls and leaving its boarded-up upstairs windows looking like a pair of droopy eyes.
“We’ll have to come back.” She shivered, suddenly aware of the imminent approach of sunset. There was no time. They had to return to Gideon’s house immediately. “Let’s go.”