Dreams for the Dead (21 page)

She stepped away from him and glanced down the street. She swiped a hand over her mouth. “It’s getting cold out,” she said, realizing it for the first time. She’d lived in Las Vegas all her life and considered the mid-sixties practically frigid. The lower September night temper
atures didn’t bother her as they would have, though, if her blood were still hot and human.

Her eyes drifted off toward the center of the city, though from their low vantage point she could see nothing but a familiar blue beam striking up into the starless sky.

And something else, further to the west. A great semi-circle of red fading up into the navy sky like a sunset, only that hour had long passed. It had the uncertain flickering quality of fire, yet there was no black smoke to accompany it.

“What is that?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe it’s … a festival,” she said uncertainly.

“Maybe,” he agreed.

Back at the apartment, in her room, she undressed in a square of moonlight while Tristan watched. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he was cloaked in shadow. “I want you to come over here,” he said with dark te
nderness. “Would you?”

She would, because even though he didn’t love her, she liked how she felt in his arms. Where it didn’t matter if he loved her, and it was easiest to believe he did. She settled herself astride his lap. His hands stroked greedy caresses over her hips and ass and up her back. Pul
ling off his shirt, she pressed her lips hard against his. As always in his arms, she didn’t think about what would happen after. She gave herself over gladly to the sensations he aroused in her. There were ladders of kisses on her skin, hands mapping heat. Her forearms rested on his shoulders as his fingers caused ruthless waves of pleasure.

He leaned back on the bed and she helped him get his jeans off. His hardness pressed against the inside of her thigh and she waited in unbearable suspense while he put on a condom. When he e
ntered her, he sat back up and held her against him. Her hands slid up the sides of his face and into his hair. She rode him for her pleasure until her thighs quaked with the effort, and then he lifted up his hips to thrust. His broad shoulders and flat-muscled back were smooth beneath her hands, his long hair fluid between her fingers. She moaned with abandon and let her mouth fall upon his.

Though she hadn’t liked Tristan pulling her hair, she had the sudden urge to do it to him. “Can I?” she asked, wiggling her fingers between the strands.

“Pull it hard,” he suggested softly, his hips still rising rhythmically into her. “Scratch me. Slap me. Do whatever you want to me if it makes you feel good.”

She squeezed her hands a little to make his hair tug lightly at the scalp. She didn’t feel quite co
mfortable doing the other things to him, so she bent her head down and nipped at his earlobe. He moaned his approval.

Pressure mounted. She arched her neck, exhilarated. He was dark and insatiable. It felt fo
rbidden to want him so wholly. Before him, she hadn’t known it was possible to feel such profane desire. Their cold bodies burned.

The world was constricting to a single, fierce point. She breathed. She breathed his name. Her ears filled with a distant roaring thunder. The smallest of gasps passed her lips. Some long tremulous moments passed, aftersparks burning through her, and her reddened vision cleared.

He was looking at her, eyes hot. “I could do that with you all day, you know.”

She glanced away. “I’d die.”

They lay down wordlessly, rapt by the achingly new yet familiar contours of each other’s bodies. She might have known him only for moments, or for always. With him it was difficult to tell, sometimes. It was why he unsettled her so. Wavering between trust and doubt, she both drew away from him and immersed herself without fear of emotional consequences. But he’d come for her, and she would wait for him every time. Fear and inconsistency weren’t enough to drive them apart. It was something more than sex keeping them together. It had to be.

Later, she swam out of sleep to curl herself closer to him. His arm tightened around her in r
esponse. His was a comforting presence beside her, the press of their undead bodies creating a warmth she never wanted to leave. He was close enough that she didn’t need her glasses to see his face clearly. To see him smile at her. She ran a finger down one sharp cheekbone, her lips parted to say … something.

But no words came and she leaned away, onto her back. Without her glasses she could barely see, but she noticed a dark shape suspended in the air just beneath the ceiling. She placed a hand on Tristan’s stomach, meaning to turn back to him, but then the shape resolved into the upside-down figure of a man. A pale face with shadowed eyes and heavy brows appeared, mouth opening in a fanged grin.

You’re mine
, Branek said, his voice a whispered hiss for her ears only.
We are bound now, and you will come for me.

With a scream, Dawn tore herself from Tristan and jumped from the bed. She snatched her glasses off the nightstand and shoved them onto her face. Frantically she searched the now-empty ceiling. Tristan sat up and followed her gaze, but there was nothing to see.

“He was here!” she insisted.

“Who was?” he asked calmly, watching her.

“You were awake, weren’t you? You never sleep.”

He reached for her, drawing her back onto the bed and into his arms. “I was. But I didn’t see anyone.”

“I’m not his,” she said fiercely, lips moving against his bare chest. “I don’t belong to anyone!”

“You belong to yourself,” he said.

As morning approached, Dawn couldn’t decide whether seeing Branek had been real or a hallucination. She guessed it didn’t matter. His figure above her had been so clear. What did he want from her? What kind of power did he hold over her? He had made her into a vampire, and she wondered if he would be able to coerce her or force her into things against her will. She would need to be strong if she ever faced him again.

She allowed herself to relax. Tristan lay on his back with one arm around her shoulders, holding her to his side. “What do you dream?” she asked.

“You know I don’t sleep.”

“You have to sleep sometimes.”

“I dream of dying.” He was silent for a long time, fingers lightly stroking her arm. “But once I dreamed of you. We were walking beneath a sunlit sky. We stopped and looked at a house. It was ours, or it was going to be. I never saw what it looked like. I guess it could be anywhere.”

“Funny,” Dawn said. “I had the same dream.”

“What’s funny is that I dreamed about living in the suburbs.”

“What’s wrong with the suburbs?” she asked, indignant. “I grew up there.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little domestic for a vampire like me? You couldn’t even think about me doing laundry without laughing.”

She smiled. “I also dreamed I could speak Chinese. And something about boots. And a bakery.”

“Tell me more,” he said.

For a time, the room
contained everything they needed. Beyond the window, the city glowed with malevolent light.

F
ourteen

L
ate
in the morning, when they finally woke, the red luminescence was absent from the air over the city. The sun was not particularly harsh that day. Cars rolled on pavement. Nobody mentioned the redness on the news. Maybe no one had seen it but Dawn and Tristan. She hoped that crimson glow in the night had come from a dream of demons.

Dawn imagined how the two of them looked together as they walked along the street in broad daylight: he, slim and tightly muscled, wearing black jeans and a plain black shirt, his dark brown hair blown lightly back; she in jeans tight on her curvy hips and a low-cut top, her head rounded by the short cap of chestnut hair. Both of them tall and expressionless, he in black sunglasses, as always. Was this what vampires looked like? Did she appear as dangerous and beautiful as Tristan? What did pe
ople think to see them?

They needed blood often, as he’d said. At least once a day, but more was always better. She stalked with him and they found their prey in a couple of city workers routinely landscaping a neig
hborhood park.

“We won’t always find convenient pairs,” Tristan said, subtly warning her that one day they would kill again.

Cars with oblivious drivers whizzed past on the rise of the freeway. The smells of sweat and cut grass wafted in the air. A child’s playful shriek from the playground pierced the still afternoon. Each of them drank comfortably behind the park restrooms.

The sun was hot. It made Dawn feel heavy, pressed upon. She had never minded the heat, even though Las Vegas sun was a draining force in the dead of summer, making the city into a wasteland of heat waves and sticky asphalt. Late September was less harsh, of course, but suddenly Dawn felt the need to lie down in the shade and sleep, and die if necessary. She was no longer a creature of the sun, but of the moon. Summer was no longer her domain.

“That feeling will pass,” Tristan said, but it wasn’t much assurance.

She took deep breaths as they walked back to the apartments to get Tristan’s car, their shoulders bumping, fingers brushing. It was time to find the others.

The room was in an actual hotel, slightly more upscale than the motel rooms Tristan and Dawn had occupied on the road. Loftus’s credit card was on file. Jared was supposed to work on getting a supply of cash to operate from, Tristan said, though it seemed Loftus had no interest in tracking them down to finish killing them. He’d have found them already. Either he didn’t care or something else occupied his attention. And Jared’s attention seemed focused more on Leila than on cash.

Dawn and Tristan walked down the second floor hall until they came to room 213. Tristan u
nlocked the door with his card key. The room, decorated in unfortunate shades of burgundy and teal, was cold and quiet. Augusta and Fallon were there. Fallon was tied to the bed in the same way Dawn had been, once. He looked miffed. She glanced at him with sympathy, but he ignored her.

“You’ve been gone
forever
,” Augusta said.

“What? You didn’t enjoy your time alone with Fallon?” Tristan teased darkly.

Augusta scowled. “That’s not the point. Did you see the sky last night?”

“The red light,” he said. “We’ve seen it.”

“It’s Loftus, isn’t it? I don’t know what else it could be. But … what is it?”

They both turned to Fallon for an explanation. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said. He paused. “But I do know it’s because he brought my mother back to life.”

“It was our blood that revived her, wasn’t it?” Tristan said. “The blood of four vampires combined.”

Fallon shook his head, his pale hair scratching on the pillow. “It wasn’t just the
prima materia
. My mother wouldn’t have returned to Loftus on her own. I beseeched a demon to inhabit her body alongside whatever remains of her soul. It moves in her skin. It sees through her eyes.”

Augusta, her fire-colored eyes wide, sat down on the bed beside him. “Are you talking about …
hell
?”

“Yes, but not strictly in the Biblical sense. I’m not so foolish as to believe there’s only one ve
rsion of hell.”

“So … what are we supposed to do?”

“Kill him,” Tristan suggested. “Just like he tried to do to us.”

“He’s our
father
.”

Tristan smirked, unimpressed. “Only legally. And really, how much respect do any of us have for the law?”

“It just feels wrong.” Augusta’s voice was small.

“If you think about it, Gus, it’ll start to feel really right.”

Someone knocked at the door.

“Has Jared been back here?” Tristan asked.

“No. I haven’t seen him since he came to tell you about … her.” Augusta looked at Dawn with a dubious frown. “Branek hasn’t been here, either.”

Tristan stalked to the door and pulled it open. Branek leaned against the frame. A woman with red lips and caramel-blonde hair tumbling down her back stood beside him.

“Tristan!” the woman cried, throwing herself into his arms. Dawn felt a pang in her chest. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

He held her at a distance and looked irritated. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” She frowned and stepped away from him. Dawn’s jealousy burned, but she kept silent and aloof, protecting herself.

“What are you doing here?” Tristan demanded. He shoved Branek’s chest. “What the
fuck
are you doing here?”

Branek looked around in feigned confusion. “This is where we were supposed to meet, isn’t it?”

“Cut the shit. You know what I’m talking about. You raping son of a bitch, you mother
fucker
.”

A smug grin crept onto Branek’s face. “What did you expect? I do bad things.”

“I know. So do I. And I’m going to fucking kill you, I swear to god.”

“Such a temper. Aren’t you glad I gave her my blood? Did you
want
her to die?”

“
I didn’t want you to touch her!
” Tristan roared, a vein popping out in his forehead.

“She was your fucking toy,” Branek growled fiercely. “And I mean that literally. Since when did you ever care about a disposable piece of junk? Did you think you were in
love
? What the fuck are
you
doing? This isn’t you—this isn’t us! Get your goddamn head on straight!”

“Oh, it is, Branek. It really fucking is.”

Tristan threw himself at Branek in a blind rage. Dawn leapt out of the way with a gasp, witnessing his vampiric strength for the first time. It was in the preternatural ease with which he slammed Branek against the wall. The mirror behind them broke. Augusta shouted something, but no one listened. Teeth bared, eyes wild, Tristan yanked Branek to the side, nearly knocking the TV off the dresser. Branek fell to the floor and Tristan kicked him several times. He jerked him up by the shirtfront, lifting him clear off the floor, and smashed his forehead into Branek’s nose once, twice. Blood smeared both their faces. They left streaks of it on the furniture as they rolled and crashed around the room, everyone else moving swiftly to stay out of their way. Tristan was murderous.

At last Augusta inserted herself between them and managed to stop the fight. “You’re making too much noise!” she cried. “Someone’s going to come up here!”

“Like I give a fuck,” Tristan snarled.

She shoved his shoulder angrily but he barely reacted. “Well,
I
do. So knock it off.”

Though his jaw hung at an angle that surely indicated it was broken, Branek laughed with his lips pressed together, eyes dancing. “Oh, god, Tristan, I can’t believe you. This is— Oh, god. It was fun. Really.”

“You need to leave, Branek. Get the fuck out of my sight.”

Even with his broken jaw, Branek managed to grin at Dawn on his way out, teeth white against his bloody skin. She shrank away from him in disgust. He went without a parting quip, and the room was quiet in his absence.

Unthinkingly, Dawn started to move toward Tristan for comfort, but the red-lipped woman had come up behind him and slid a hand over his shoulder. He cringed ever so slightly at the touch, but the woman didn’t move away. She looked at Dawn with a mean gleam in her eyes.

“What,” she asked in a husky voice, “was that about?”

“Nothing,” Tristan said sharply. But he didn’t move away from her.

“It wasn’t nothing. I know when you’re lying, Tristan.”

He was silent for a few moments, thinking. His heavy breath gradually softened, but the anger in his eyes remained. He stared at Dawn with defiance, as cold and hard as she’d ever seen him. And then everyone was looking at her, and she cringed beneath their brutal eyes. She was in awe of them, and afraid. Branek had made her like them, yet she didn’t belong. She had felt more comfortable as an unnoticed, unneeded observer. To be the focus of their attention was unnerving.

“I’ll tell you what is was about,” Tristan said in a low, dangerous tone. “I fucked around with a human and it pissed everyone off, because they thought I was emotionally involved. And I
was
really convincing, wasn’t I, Dawn? Branek certainly thought so. Honestly, though, did you believe I ever wanted anything but to fuck you? That it was anything other than a game I love to play?”

Dawn stared at him, speechless. Her eyes had gone wide and she was afraid she’d start to cry. But why? She
had
wished for something more from him, but she’d always known, deep down, he had nothing but his body to give her.

“You can leave now,” he suggested. “I don’t need you anymore.”

“Tristan—” she said in spite of herself.

There was acid in his voice. “Go. Get out of here.”

Without another second’s hesitation, she turned toward the door, face flushing red. She had lost him, she knew, if she’d ever had him at all. She staggered clumsily out of the room and down the hall. Her chest was heaving and her throat was raw by the time she found the stairs and stumbled down them to the exit door. Numbness crept over her, eating up a crushing hurt. She welcomed it because she was too afraid to feel. Too afraid to admit she needed Tristan and he wasn’t going to be there for her.

“Dawn—”

She half turned and saw him coming out the door after her. “Don’t!” she shouted hoarsely. “You wanted me to go. Well, I’m gone.”

But she stopped walking and studied him with a cagey glare, trying to decipher some sort of si
gnal in his eyes. She’d have loved to see some hint of emotion, something that told her he despaired their separation, but there was nothing. He was a void, so cold it was almost surprising to recall the intimate moments they’d spent in each other’s arms. A burst of fury burned up the numbness inside her.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he said softly.

“Like what?” she asked, her voice hard, but too high.

“We don’t have to be enemies.”

“Well, we are. You made that pretty fucking clear. It turns out we were never anything but.”

“I’m fucked up,” he said. He made as if to move toward her, then stopped short. “I really am. More than you can imagine.”

She shook her head wearily. “I don’t care, Tristan. I just don’t fucking care.”

His face steeled. “Maybe you’re still wondering about vampire powers, since you are one now. I never told you we can hear a creature’s heartbeat. We can sense excit
ement, or fear. With you they were often the same thing. At least if I was in the room. But I wouldn’t have needed any special powers to know how you felt with me on top of you.”

“
Stop it
.”

“If you think I hurt you—”

“That doesn’t even begin to describe it,” she said, eyes flashing. “If anything, you’ve done me a favor. So thanks. Thanks a lot. And goodbye.”

Dawn turned from him and walked away before she could no longer bring herself to do so.

~

Her eyes haunted him, wide and blue-green behind her lenses, no makeup. Wounded. Disappointed. Di
smissive.

Maybe he’d ruined her, just like he’d known he would. She’d had opportunities to escape him during that fucking road trip. He’d done not
hing to keep her quiet, and she hadn’t even tried to make herself heard. He was a shitty captor, it turned out, and she was a shitty prisoner.

Taking her to those cafés had felt like a dare—so much could have gone wrong out there in the open. Even leaving her alone in the rooms had been risky. He’d told himself if she screamed and begged help from any nearby stranger, he would do nothing to stop her. It would have been a relief to have her gone. He would be absolved. And then he could stop thinking about her, stop wan
ting to fuck her all the time.

But he’d chased after her anyway that one time she’d tried to run. He’d lied to himself. He couldn’t let her go and he didn’t know why.

At first it hadn’t taken any effort at all for Tristan to keep himself aloof from her. Now it took all he had.