Blood and Kisses - By Karin Shah Page 0,2
She was lucky he was being so polite. Many vampires would have simply called her “witch” or used the “P” word.
He shoved his hand in his pocket. “And please, call me Gideon.”
She bit her lip. His presence fostered a wild rush of desire tinted with equal parts fear and awe. She struggled to mask her unease. Acting like a cat in heat or a frightened rabbit would hardly impress him. “Let’s go where it’s a little quieter.”
In the distance, she could hear a train passing over the highway. Its syncopated cadence seemed to chide, “Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea” as it sped into the night. She pushed the thought away. It was far too late to turn back. She took a deep, steadying breath, scooped up her bag, then gestured down the street, toward the pedestrian bridge that forded the chasm sculpted long ago by the Genesee River.
He tilted his head, his gaze latching on hers as if searching for something. Finally, he nodded.
No more than a regal inclination of his elegant head, but Thalia breathed a sigh of heartfelt relief. Whatever his reasons, it appeared he was willing to listen.
The warm, mid-June night held only a hint of breeze. An ornamental iron railing guarded the bridge. Streetlights provided small oases of light in the desert of shadows. Thalia located an empty concrete bench near the center and headed toward it, trying not to look at the man by her side.
He walked like a tidal wave, flowing with sinister purpose, immense, forceful, inevitable. Crushing, a tiny shred of reason insisted, but she ignored that, too.
She focused straight ahead. She loved this area, but tonight had no time to enjoy the heady weather or savor the beauty of the dramatically lighted waterfall or the delicious aromas drifting from nearby restaurants.
Back across the gorge, she could see people dining on well-lit, open terraces. Fashionably dressed, they ate, and drank and laughed, their lives so alien to her it was as if they performed in a play.
As they neared the bench, Thalia broke the silence. “There’s been a murder.” Her gaze flicked up to graze his face.
His expression was as closed and unreadable as the decorative bricks that surfaced the bridge. “Murders happen every day. This one is different because...?” He sank down on the cement bench and looked in the direction of the falls. Bright, orange-tinted light bounced off the exotic planes of his face and should have flattened his features, made him seem normal, ordinary. Instead, it caressed his countenance, highlighting his preternatural beauty.
Thalia sat next to him, leaving several inches between them. Despite the distance, she imagined she could feel his shadowy aura brushing hers. She shivered. Fear or desire?
It didn’t matter, both were equally forbidden.
Swallowing again to clear the sudden blockage in her throat, she pulled a slim, manila folder out of her amber-beaded bag and handed it to him.
He opened the folder to reveal a color photograph of a body. A young, blonde woman sprawled, naked, by the side of a road. “And naturally you assume it’s a vampire.” The dark honey of his voice held a rough edge.
“For one thing, she was almost drained of blood—”
“Could be a delusional human—.”
“This for another.” She leaned over and pulled a second picture from beneath the first, forcing herself to ignore the electric current that raced through her at the brush of his arm against her shoulder. The photo showed a close-up of the woman’s face. Her pale blue eyes were open, frozen as if looking through a window into a world of unearthly beauty. Her wide mouth was stretched into an ecstatic smile.
“Drug overdose?”
Thalia eyed him impatiently. Her desperation overpowered her caution. “Is that what you really think?”
He closed the folder with a crisp flick of the wrist. “Thank you for bringing this to me. I’ll take care of it.”
“Will you?”
He stood, his body eclipsing the light from the nearby streetlight, giving her the odd sensation she’d suddenly shrunk. “The vampire code forbids us from taking a life, especially while feeding. I am the oldest vampire in the community. I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Oh?”
“The victim is, was, my cousin.” Thalia straightened, proud of the hard-fought steadiness of her voice. Good. No hint of tears.
“A Poi...a witch?” His voice rang with incredulity.
She leapt to her feet, body stiff, fists clenched. “No. My cousin was not a Poisonblood, as you people so kindly call us. If only she had been. At least this would be over.” Tears