Awakening His Vampire Mate (Blood Bonded Mates #6)

CHAPTER ONE || COLE

“Who are you?” The man shook in my hands, his eyes so wide with terror that the whites around his irises were visible.

We stood in a dingy basement that reeked of mildew and bleach, with the faintest hint of a charnel house.

A single exposed bulb flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the bloodstained concrete floor.

Fitting, really, for the events about to transpire. “And what’s wrong with your teeth?”

I fought the urge to smile at the question. Nothing whatsoever was wrong with my teeth. They were, even after all these years, still perfectly capable of tearing into his body and draining his life from him. But first, I had to be certain.

I fixed his gaze with mine, using only a fraction of the hypnotic power I could exert.

His resistance collapsed at once, his expression going slack, eyes glazing over.

“The police seek a killer who has murdered four young women in the Los Angeles area within the past two months, all of them blondes in their late twenties to early thirties. Did you kill those women?”

My voice probably sounded as if it came from somewhere deep inside his own mind—impossible to resist.

The man held in my grip spoke in a flat monotone, his subconscious responding automatically. “Yes.” He paused, then added, “But they won’t catch me.”

“Is that so?” I allowed myself a thin, satisfied smile. “Out of curiosity, has it only been four victims?”

It was important to know how much darkness I was about to extinguish from the world. Perhaps it was the predator in me, relishing the satisfaction of taking out the competition.

“No.” Though his expression stayed blank and his eyes unfocused, I could hear a note of pride in his voice.

“Ah,” I replied. “More than four, then. Have they all been from Los Angeles?”

“No. I moved here a few months ago.” He paused. “I’m getting more comfortable with the area, which is why I’ve started again.”

“Where did you move here from?”

“Chicago.”

“How many?”

He hesitated, blinking. “What?”

I scowled, annoyed with myself. Even after eight centuries, I had never quite learned patience. I tried again. “How many lives have you taken?”

He looked almost confused. “I’m not sure.”

“You don’t know how many people you’ve killed?”

“No.”

I cocked my head, studying him. As far as prey went, he was unremarkable—mid-forties, balding, slightly pudgy, wire-rimmed glasses over cold, unfeeling eyes. But something about him must have been exceptional to have gotten away with murder so many times that he’d lost count.

Until now, of course.

“It’s been that many? Or have you simply never kept track?”

“Why count them? They’re nothing.” A flicker of whatever passed for emotion sparked back to life at last, and his expression darkened. “They’re dirty. All of them.”

“Make a ballpark guess.”

“A dozen.”

“Ah,” I replied, suddenly bored with this exchange.

Still, I made him tell me about each one of his kills.

It turned out to be thirteen victims in total.

His thing was drugging thirty-something blonde women he met in bars, taking them to his home in Northridge, and dispatching them with claw hammers.

Even so, he was meticulous, and the police likely wouldn’t have caught him.

He had never anticipated a predator who could track him by scent.

He didn’t know what compelled him to kill, of course. They seldom do.

After I was done eliciting a confession so detailed and specific it would’ve made even the most seasoned law-enforcement professional green with envy, the predatory instincts within me could wait no longer.

“You won’t move.” I held his gaze. “You will keep still, and you won’t scream.”

His breath hitched, but his face remained expressionless.

“I won’t scream,” he agreed.

“Good.”

Then I broke the hypnotic spell. I watched, motionless, long enough to savor the pure terror blooming on his face as he realized he was in the same room with a monster every bit as dangerous as he was.

He didn’t run, but he clearly wanted to. Instead, his eyes went big and round. “I—I don’t want to die.”

I was certain none of his victims had wanted to die, either. They’d probably made that rather clear. But he had still killed them anyway.

My smile returned full force. “Good.”

Then I sank my fangs into his neck and drank.

* * *

After I was done with Jerry Winslow—I’d checked the man’s ID after he took his last struggling, terrified breath—I pulled out my phone and called Detective James Harris, my contact at the LAPD.

“It’s three in the morning,” Harris grumbled, bleary with sleep. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Another dead serial killer,” I told him. “At this rate, Los Angeles will be one of the safest cities in America.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Harris sounded more awake. I heard the rustle of blankets being thrown back, then a light switch clicking on. “You’re calling to tell me you’ve murdered someone.”

“I did, yes. Just now.”

“Wait a second, are you gloating? You are aware that I’m a cop, right?”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a detective. Much sexier.”

“Fuck you.”

“Be honest with me, Detective. It’s the guy you told me about—the one who kills his victims with a hammer. Pretty blonde women, all smashed to bits.” Not that I personally cared one way or the other, but Harris certainly did. “You’re happy he’s gone, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he gritted out, clearly unwilling.

I chuckled. “He’s killed far more than four women, if that’s the sort of thing that helps you sleep better at night.”

“I haven’t gotten much sleep since I met you.”

“Guilty conscience keeping you up?” I asked, too innocent. I allowed myself a deep smile and checked my nails. They were the epitome of perfection, of course.

He swore under his breath, unable to lie to me, even though he clearly wanted to. “No.”

“Well then. It must be something else,” I replied, enjoying myself.

Eight months back, I’d hypnotized Detective Harris into keeping my secrets. In return, I was generous enough to help him with his caseload. He didn’t approve of my methods, of course, but that was his problem, not mine.

I added, “I’d be more than happy to come over and keep you company.”

“Under no circumstances are you ever to come here. We’re not friends. And hell would freeze over before I’d fuck you.”

“It’s because I’m a vampire, isn’t it?” I said, mock-hurt, laying it on thick. “Or is it because you’re not into guys?”

Actually, though I often flirted with him—much to his dismay—in that moment I realized we’d never had this particular conversation before.

“No. It’s because you’re a murderer. It’s a turnoff for me.”

Given that Harris was also under a strong compulsion to always be perfectly honest with me, I knew he believed that to be true.

Such a small thing, really. He’d get over it.

“But you are physically attracted to me?”

“You’re such an asshole,” Harris muttered. He, at least, had more fight in him than the late, unlamented Jerry Winslow. At last, grudgingly, he said, “Yeah. I am. A little.”

“Huh. Well, you’re right—it wouldn’t work. It might be fun, though.” I paused, considering. “Have you ever slept with a guy before?”

“No.”

“I could teach you. I’m sure you’d be pretty good at it.”

“Absolutely not.”

I grinned, my gaze landing on the young blonde woman lying on the floor of Winslow’s basement. Her eyes were closed—unconscious from the cocktail of sedatives he’d slipped her—but she was still breathing.

How nice for her.

“Have you ever realized you might enjoy having sex with another man?” I asked, refocusing on the more important topics at hand. I arched an eyebrow, a smirk forming on my lips. “Before this conversation, that is?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

That was a loaded question if there ever was one.

Though, truly, there was nothing wrong with me at all.

Because none of this mattered. The only thing that did matter was that I was no longer hungry, and the predatory drive that compelled me to watch the light fade from my victim’s eyes was now satisfied—for the moment, at least.

“Detective,” I admonished. “Remember, we’re being honest. And I’m really not hearing a no.”

Harris let out a long breath. “Since we’re apparently having three a.m. real talk and I don’t exactly have a choice in the matter, then yeah—I guess, in the back of my head, I might’ve known that sleeping with a guy would be okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Fine. Better than okay. Are you happy?”

“You should be thanking me, you know. I’ve just helped you set aside years of repression and discover your own latent bisexual tendencies.

I may have saved you thousands in therapy bills.

Or, at the very least, you’re still young enough to go out and enjoy all the options life has in store for you. You’re quite welcome.”

He sighed, clearly exasperated. “I’m not sure that mind-fucking me into oblivion counts as something I should thank you for.”

“Be honest with me—”

“Do I ever have a choice?”

I snorted. After our first meeting, I’d used my hypnotic gift to plant a powerful suggestion deep in his psyche: he must always be entirely honest in all interactions with me.

He may have been my unwilling partner in crime, but he was my partner nonetheless.

And I wouldn’t tolerate lies from those close to me. That part was entirely non-negotiable.

“No,” I replied shortly.

“You said we’re being honest. You know I’m telling you the truth. But how do I know you’re not a compulsive liar? How can I believe anything you’ve ever told me is true? How can I trust that?”

I frowned, puzzled by his ridiculous question. I was a ruthless, unrepentant killer—but never a liar. Still, I couldn’t help but ask, “Do you honestly care?”

“About whether I can trust the psychopathic vampire who murders people on a regular basis? Gee, yeah, I guess I do.”

He might’ve been compelled to be honest, but that didn’t stop him from injecting as much sarcasm as possible into his replies.