Viper (5 page)

Nor did he want to.

Now here he stood, his libido going into overdrive like some randy teenage boy. Kane knew it had to do with desiring what you couldn’t have. Mixing the MC with the law would be like placing a square peg in a round hole, no chance of the two ever fitting. But like it or not, he definitely wanted the pretty little detective hot, wet and naked, squirming beneath him calling his name during multiple orgasms. Just the mere thought of fucking her turned up the heat of his hunger. His fangs had fully extended and ached with the need to feed.

Talk about thinking with the wrong head.

Kane shook off the growing need, turned his back on her as she pulled a light sweater over her head, and fled into the woods. Following her home had been foolhardy, pushing his self-discipline to its limit. Kane had acted on impulse, which was a short hop, skip and a jump from being just plain stupid. When he left the clubhouse, his intentions had been to head for the Blood 'n' Rave to find nourishment stat, which he was still in dire need of. He raced through the forest, the trees and passing brush, nothing but a blur moving at speeds impossible for normal humans. Kane was anything but normal. As he reached the road running south from hers, he came across his bike where he had left it, mounted it, and hit the electric start. The bike rumbled to life. Kane kicked up the centerstand and headed for Florence.

A half hour later, Kane parked his motorcycle, killed the engine and stepped over the seat. He took off his skull cap and placed it on the handlebar and headed for the entrance of the club. Hunger hummed through his veins. Tonight—just about anybody would do. Normally, when it came to feeding, Kane was quite particular. But with blood hunger pulsing through his veins, he wasn't about to turn away any willing candidate. He had a singular goal in mind: find a woman wearing a vial and commence communion.

* * *

From his vantage point, hidden by the trees near the side of the house, he watched the detective exit her house and point her key fob at the black Dodge Charger. The headlights illuminated and the yellow caution lamps flashed twice as the driver side door unlocked with a soft click. Moments earlier, Kane Tepes had stood within the woods across the large expanse of lawn toward the rear of the home, watching the young woman as she showered.

Kane hadn't been aware, that while he spied on the woman, someone watched him. A very dangerous someone.
Tsk, tsk,
Kane,
he thought with a chuckle. Kane's keen senses should have picked up on the fact he wasn't alone and that another of his kind, not to mention a primordial, stood but mere yards away. Kane’s weakness for women made him unaware. The biker had fucked up, handing him his Achilles Heel on a silver platter.

The female, he had to admit, was stunning even in her plainness. She didn't wear much makeup and her hair she wore unadorned. Her bright blue eyes were rimmed with just a hint of mascara, while a bit of blush accented her cheeks. He could easily understand what Kane saw in this one. The detective was not at all like the last one he drained. As she opened the car door, her cell rang, the light from the car's interior softly highlighting her face. But with his vision he didn’t need the soft glow to see her clearly. Every freckle, every nuance was clearly visible, even from his distance. She rummaged through a small leather purse, pulling out a red BlackBerry.

Hitting the TALK, she placed it to her ear. Not giving the person on the other end of the phone a chance to utter a word, she said, "Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way."

A smile lit her cheeks and put a twinkle in her vivid eyes. She might be worth toying with before he drained her like the others.

"I'm leaving now. Give me fifteen minutes." She paused. "And, Joe? That beer had better still be cold."

Hitting the OFF, she lowered herself onto the front seat and started the car, pulling on her seatbelt. He watched as the car slowly crawled down the long driveway, then disappeared out of sight.

Walking from the cover of the trees, he approached the backdoor. Making a fist, he punched through the thin glass of the door as if it were made of rice paper and entered the house.
Old wives’ tales
, he thought with a chuckle. Vampire or not, he didn’t need an invitation to enter.

* * *

Switchback by Celldweller filtered through the speakers as bright blue, red, green, and yellow laser lighting pulsed through the room to the beat of the high energy music. Klayton, the lead singer of the band, was nothing less than a genius. Kane had met the man years ago when he was in a band called Circle of Dust. The band had toured the states, and when landing in Oregon for a tour, they had hired the Sons of Sangue as bodyguards. He and Klayton had become fast friends, keeping in touch over the years. Whenever Celldweller came to Oregon, Klayton hired the Sons to keep violence out of the venues. Tonight, however, the DJ spun the music. Most of the ravers here were considered Darkravers and Gravers, as this crowd was more into the darker side of music and tended toward Gothic styles.

The patrons stomped and jumped to the beat of the music while others practiced glowstick twirling, their arms fluidly moving to the rhythm in liquid motion. Women … men, they all danced as one, regardless of sexual orientation. The entire scene looked very erotic. Ecstasy ran rampant in the Blood 'n' Rave. X or Disco Biscuits, as they were known here, were easy enough to come by if someone wanted to get charged up for the night. Kane stayed away from the drugs, as it wouldn't do much for his kind anyway. His blood regenerated rapidly and the pharmaceutical wouldn't stay in his body longer than a few minutes.

Finding a piece of ass in this crowd to slake the itch that started watching Cara shower, wouldn't be a problem. Finding one that interested him would. Her provocative image, running lathered hands down her smooth taut belly, heading for the V of her thighs, had burned itself in his mind. Creamy pale flesh called to him, beckoned him to take her against the smooth shower wall and fuck her like his hundred-plus years would end tomorrow. Hell, his dick stirred just at the thought. Maybe he should appease his raging hormones on the first willing woman who happened by, and the hell with where his true desire lay. Here at the Rave, he bet that wouldn’t take more than thirty seconds.

Kane shook his head and ignored the young redhead eyeing him up … not even thirty seconds, and headed for the bar. Not only did he need blood, he could use a stiff drink as well. He cut through the crowd with ease, people parting, giving him homage. His MC cut introduced him to the crowd, for those who didn't already know him. The Blood 'n' Rave allowed the Sons’ colors within the establishment, showed them deference. This had been their hangout, their turf, since the nightclub had opened. The owner liked their presence. It kept out the dregs of society, the underbelly—even if there were those who considered the Sons one and the same. To the Rave, the Sons of Sangue were treated like royalty, and there was always an abundance of willing women to slake all their needs, be it sexual or nutritional.

Cutting a path around the dance floor, Kane headed for the ornate bar, spotting the owner instantly. He stepped to the side of a leather-padded stool, placed one hand on the bar and a booted foot on the foot rail, giving a quick nod to the man he had considered a friend over the past many years.

"Draven."

Draven stood just over six foot in bare feet, but tonight he wore a pair of black leather platforms that brought him eye to eye with Kane. He held out his black-fingernail-tipped hand and shook Kane's.

"Not used to seeing you alone, my dear friend. What's your poison?"

The Sons rarely traveled by themselves because it was always safer to arrive in numbers, should trouble start. Tonight, Kane didn't need wisecracks from his brothers. He wanted solitude, time to reason with this crazy notion of sliding between the detective’s smooth lean thighs. "Jack, straight up."

Draven nodded at the bartender who brought them a freshly opened bottle of Jack Daniel's Single Barrel and two vintage lowball glasses, etched in fine gold. He poured them each a half glass. Draven picked them both up, holding one out to Kane.

Kane took the offering, clinked glasses with the man, then downed a good share of the amber liquid, feeling the burn as it slid down his esophagus.

"You come to party? I got some sweet shipments that just came in."

Kane shook his head and wiped his hand down his mouth. Draven knew Kane didn't dabble in drugs, free or otherwise, but it never stopped Draven from offering. Maybe Draven felt he wouldn't be the complete host if he didn't. Kane's answer never changed. "Just here for the women, my friend."

Draven’s hand indicated the dance floor. "Take your pick."

He tipped his top hat back a notch as he peered over the blue rimless glasses he wore perched on the end of his nose. Kane wasn't sure if Draven wore them to read or because he thought it made him look more like Gary Oldman from Bram Stocker's
Dracula
. He wore red contacts to enhance the look and a soul patch beneath his lower lip. The only thing missing was the mustache.

Kane took another sip from his glass, then turned his back to the bar and leaned against it, his heel now resting on the foot rail. His gaze swept the room, looking for a good candidate, when a lean, dark-haired woman approached the bar. The first thing that caught Kane's attention was the red vial hanging from her neck, marking her as a donor. He had seen her many times before, but usually on the arm of one of his brothers. She wasn't his normal type, but tonight beggars certainly couldn't be choosers.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Kane asked.

Startled, her blue gaze stopped on his. "I'm sorry?"

Kane pointed at her glass and grinned. "What are you drinking, sweetness?"

"Tom Collins."

Kane nodded at the bartender, who quickly brought her a fresh glass. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"You didn't," the brunette said, nervously running a hand down her black pleather pants. On her top half she wore a white fur-covered bikini bra, an A-cup at best. "I just didn't expect you to speak to me.” She chuckled. “That was certainly rude of me. What I meant is that I've been coming here for years and you've never once spoken to me before."

"Maybe it's about time I did." Kane's fingers graced the hollow of her throat where a blood-filled glass vial and red jewel hung from a black, leather cord. "I'm suddenly famished if you're game."

Her red lips tipped into a wide smile. "Really?" she asked, followed by a nervous giggle. The sound cut straight to his spine, enough to make him want to about-face and find food elsewhere.

She had to be in her late twenties, making the giggle sound a bit immature. But what did he care? Food was food. "Really," he repeated. "What shall I call you?"

She looked at him, confusion clouding her eyes. "Call me?"

Kane resisted the urge to tell her to forget it and move on. "Your name, sweetness."

"Oh. I'm sorry … my name is Suzi."

Chapter 4

Cara walked through the door at Murphy's, thankful the earlier rain had paused for her ride back to town. She had been soaked through before her shower, chilling her to the bone. Truth be told, she wouldn't have agreed to the beer had the weather not cleared. 

An eighty's tune from the band Poison blared on the juke box, already lightening her dark mood. Maybe coming out for a beer was exactly what she needed. She'd never tire of the classic hair band, even if she really wasn't old enough to remember them the first time around. Bret Michael's and his Rock of Love had made sure her generation knew who the rock icon was.

The bar's owner motioned her over the minute he caught sight of her weaving through the crowd. Even on a weeknight, Murphy's packed them in. She side-stepped several people, careful not to bump their hands or catch them off guard. A bar full of standing patrons with full glasses in their hands usually meant she was wearing liquor by the end of the night. No one had ever accused her of being graceful.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, gathering her into a bear of a hug. "Where’ve you been hiding?"

She backed from his embrace and smiled up at the very tall man. He could have been a basketball player for his height, but Cara knew that Lyle lacked the ambition for sports in school, opting for partying with his buddies instead of dribbling balls. "I've been working, Lyle. Some of us are busy with our jobs."

"Shit, them boys" —he indicated her fellow deputies with the towel in his hand— "work, too. But they got time to come in and patronize my bar."

"If that's what you want to call what they do." She smiled and winked at the six-foot-eight man, then headed for the table of fellow officers.

"You drinking?" Lyle hollered after her.

"Joe was supposed to have a beer waiting," she said, smiling as Hernandez pointed at the frosty mugged draft already sitting on the table in front of the empty chair.

"Sit your pretty little behind down, Brahnam," Joe said. "You're already about three beers behind."

"Good thing." Cara pulled out the chair and sat, taking a healthy swig of the icy cold brew. She had to admit, the beer tasted great after the day she’d had. "Or I'd be heading home for bed already."

"Everyone knows you're a lightweight, Detective," Jeff Reeves said with a chuckle. She could tell he was well into several beers, his glassy eyes proving as much.

"Not a lightweight, Jeff. Just smarter than the rest of you fools. I certainly hope you have a designated driver."

Joe slapped Reeves on the back and chuckled. "We'll make sure he gets home and tucked in all right."

"So, what was all important to get me out of the house on a chilly night? To think I could be curled up in bed with a good book right about now."

"See, that's exactly why we called." Joe grinned, saluting her with his draft. "We're saving you from yourself."

A round of laughter followed Joe's taunt, which she shared in. They weren't poking fun at her but rather joking with her. Working with mostly guys, she needed to be able to take a good ribbing as well as laugh at herself. Besides, Cara liked to give as good as she got.

"Shouldn't you be home, Joe? I thought the kids were away. That wife of yours isn't waiting for you?"

His smile reached his eyes. "She told me to get the hell out, said I needed to give her space. I guess I'm just too much man for her and twenty-four-seven sex is a bit of an overkill."

The guys laughed and fist bumped each other.

Cara rolled her eyes. "More like annoying the hell out of her twenty-four-seven."

"Coming from the woman who never gets any."

She snorted. "You act as if I care, Joe." 

The last thing Cara wanted or needed was lack-luster sex. Her mind drifted back to the shower and her straying thoughts. Somehow she doubted sex with Kane would ever be deemed boring. Though, not a thought she intended to share with her co-workers.

"Did we find out anything more about the dead vic?" Cara asked, hoping desperately to change the subject and get the topic off her. Last thing she wanted was the entire office talking about her lack of a sex life. Jesting with her partner was one thing, letting the entire office in on the joke was another.

Jeff said, "Just before I left, the ME called. Thought he shouldn't have any trouble IDing her. Somebody's got to be missing her. If she's from Pleasant, he said he'd probably find out by tomorrow afternoon at the latest who she was."

"Maybe if we get an ID we'll be able to discover who she’d been hanging with before she died and give us a clue as to what the hell happened." Joe held up his empty draft mug and nodded at Lyle for a refill. "Our best bet is going to be witnesses. That fucking storm killed our chances for footprints."

Cara had a bad niggling in her gut. Something about this latest victim didn't sit right with her. "Too many prints out there to be of much use anyway. But you're right, the rain certainly didn't help. We can go back to the site tomorrow, but with slope of the landscape, our evidence is probably long washed away."

"We collected what we could," one of the attending deputies offered.

"Unfortunately, that isn't going to be good enough," Cara grumbled and took another swig from her beer. The alcohol sat like a rock in her stomach. Suddenly, she felt as if coming here hadn’t been the best idea. She had never been much of a social butterfly, preferring to stay home more than not. Spending the night drinking at the local tavern had never been her idea of fun, regardless of what her co-workers thought.

Or maybe spending time in someone else’s company held more appeal.

Lord, if she kept to that line of thinking, she'd be on her own slippery slope. Not like Kane would be interested. His taunts earlier had been just that. He'd never engage himself with a cop, not with the life he led. Cops and bikers didn't mix. They came from opposing sides of the law. Like mixing water with oil, the two elements never blended, no matter how hard you shook them.

But like it or not, it was his vision that stuck in her head. Cara took another swig of her draft, disgusted by her train of thought. Maybe she ought to go see that psychiatrist yet. Unlucky for her, her libido had finally shown up and, like Cupid with his damn little arrows, had aimed itself right at the figment of her nightmares from the past ten years. Coming back to Pleasant might not have been the wisest choice after all.

Joe chuckled. "Brahnam? Did you even hear a word I said?"

Cara scratched her nape, giving him the best apologetic look she could muster. "I told you I wasn't much in the mood for mixing company, Joe. You’re the one who insisted I come hang out and have a beer."

He shrugged off her accusation. "I was just saying that these killings were on the verge of being freakish, like something out of the Twilight Zone. What the hell is the guy doing with the blood? With no rope burns around the ankle, it's not like he's hanging them to drain. It's like he's sucking the blood right out of them."

She toyed with the damp napkin beneath her mug. "I'm sure when we find this sick bastard he'll be able to elaborate what the hell he's doing with it."

"You think this fuck is drinking it?" Reeves asked, his brows knit together over the bridge of his nose, excitement lit his blue eyes.

Cara didn't want to chime in, but she feared that's exactly what was happening. And if that were the case, then she feared Kane knew more than he was letting on. Her thoughts returned to the night she ran from the bathroom while blood dripped from his fangs …
fucking fangs!

Who has those?

A shiver passed down her spine. "I'm sure that's possible. But humans can't ingest that amount of blood and keep it down. Our digestive system would reject it. So there is no way this freak is drinking it all. Which means we have a crime scene somewhere with a hell of a lot of blood, or he’s dumping it somewhere."

A petite redhead approached the table. She wore a tiny little pen skirt, barely covering her front end, let alone her back end. The teeny scrap of a tank she adorned on top left little to the imagination as it plunged deep between her perky breasts. A cinnamon-painted smile complimented her tanned skin. The worst part, she didn't even appear legal. Although she had to be old enough to drink or Lyle wouldn’t have allowed her into his establishment in the first place. He wasn't one to mess with underage.

Placing her hands on the battered table, she leaned forward, giving everyone a good hint of what lay beneath her teeny top. After she got every man's attention, she turned to Jeff Reeves. The young dispatch smiled drunkenly back at the woman who proceeded to ask him to dance. Following a bantering from the table, Jeff took the redhead's hand and was led away from the group.

"Looks like someone might get some action tonight," one of the deputies said before shaking his head and taking another swig from his bottle. "The ugliest one of the bunch."

"You might want to look in the mirror, you ugly son of a bitch," Joe said, patting him on the shoulder. "What do you say, Brahnam? Reeves better looking than Higgins here?"

Cara's gaze landed on Reeve's who danced behind the redhead, rubbing up against her backside. He was definitely the cutest thing at the station, but also the youngest. He reminded her of the cute actor from Gossip Girls, Chase something-or-other.

"Better looking than any of your ugly mugs." She chuckled, then finished the remains of her beer. Before she had a chance to politely excuse herself and rush off, though, Lyle set a fresh frozen mug in front of her. Cara sighed. So much for sneaking out early.

* * *

Kane walked silently across the plush burgundy carpet of Draven's office. A warm, gold paint covered the walls, while draperies, matching the floor coloring, covered the windows so that even in the daytime, no light shone through. The small table lamps flanking the sofa lent to the room's ambiance. A perfect vampire's lair, Kane thought with a wry smile.

Using the owner's space became a necessity since being spied upon in the bathroom by young and impressionable Cara Brahnam years ago. Even at her tender age back then, she had all the makings of becoming a stunner. Hell, it had been damn risky of him to take his donor to the ladies’ restroom in the first place but she had been a bit of an exhibitionist. The thought of getting caught had always been a turn on to her. Sex in public hadn't been the problem, though … feeding from her was. Worse yet, it had been pure idiocy on his part not to follow Cara and use the hypnosis they had mastered over the years to convince her the scene she had witnessed hadn't actually happened. Changing their eyes to an obsidian glass-like appearance made hypnosis easy. Using hypnotic suggestion, they could convince anyone of anything. It's how they kept their secret. For some reason he had allowed Cara to remember that night. Kane had broken a club rule and allowed an outsider to be privy to their kind. Only donors were given that right.

Donors, a reticent society privy to the vampires' existence, allowed his kind to feed from them, much like donating pints to the Red Cross. They provided necessary food to those who had need. Unlike the vampires of folklore or fiction, they only required about a half pint of blood every few days to keep them fully nourished. They had no need to attack and drain anyone dry, which made him think of his last donor falling prey to the murdering scum who had been draining women of all their life's blood. The more a vampire fed, the stronger they became. If Kane needed to hone his skills and keep himself sharp, then he made sure he fed regularly. But never had he drunk a human dry. Besides, feeding daily required more than one donor, and Kane preferred to remain exclusive. Not only was it safer, it was also less dramatic. No need for any female to go all territorial. Kane didn't need the melodrama.

His gaze fell upon the short-bobbed brunette patiently lounging on the Italian leather sofa, watching his every move. Hell, if he didn't know better, he'd guess her the predator and he the prey with the look of hunger in her blue gaze. Her long lean pleather-clad legs stretched out in front of her, giving her that model thin appearance so many women strived for. Kane preferred his women with a bit more curves, not that he was in a position for turning away a meal. Sex was an entirely different matter. Her sultry eyes had been rimmed with soft black kohl. Suzi really could be quite bewitching and held her own with most of the women in the club, even if she wasn't normally his type. Kane certainly wouldn't bitch about feeding from her, but she had been already passed around by the Sons, not only as a donor but perhaps for sexual favors as well. He didn't plan on tapping into where his brothers had already been.

She patted the soft leather beside her. "Why don't you quit pacing and come over here and keep me company. You're making me nervous."

One of his brows inched up. He chuckled. "I make you anxious? Interesting. You're a norm with the Son's. So, why the hell would I make you nervous? It's not like you don't know what we are. You wear the vial of blood around your throat. You freely offer yourself."

Suzi shrugged, toyed with the tiny vial between her thumb and forefinger. "Because you’re different … you're the President."