Don’t Bite the Botanist (Don’t Bite Me #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Tressa

A glistening drop of ruby red blood slid down the side of the woman’s face, landed on her shoulder, and seeped into her white shirt.

Tressa suppressed the urge to lick it up.

It wasn’t easy given how hungry she was, but at nearly three hundred years old, her restraint was borderline impeccable. Even when she was in a dire situation and had to resort to a natural feeding, she was always in control of the blood lust.

Today would be no different.

She just needed to block out the sounds of the hospital waiting room that were starting to grate on her and finish the job. The sooner she dealt with this hysterical woman, the sooner she could put the wailing ambulance sirens and rhythmic beeping of life support machinery in her rearview mirror.

Pasting a subdued smile on her face—one she had carefully curated over the years to portray sympathy and understanding—she reached a hand out to squeeze the woman’s shoulder, careful to avoid the fresh blood stains blending into the rose pattern of the victim’s blouse.

“Look at me,” she told the late-twenties blonde who continued to weep softly. “What’s your name?”

The woman sniffled a few more times, then swiped a hand over her eyes to brush away the bulk of her tears along with half of her eyeliner, the rest of which already coated her cheeks in thin black lines. “Re-Rebecca,” she choked out. “But everyone calls me Becca.”

Tressa nodded like she was hearing it for the first time, even though she’d already learned everything about the victims from the police. “You’re going to be okay, Becca. You just need to breathe.”

She’d long since lost track of how many times those exact same words came out of her mouth, but they never lacked sincerity. The woman would be okay. Or she would be once Tressa was done with her.

Fresh tears bubbled up in the woman’s eyes. “But…”

“No buts,” Tressa said firmly, drawing on her ability. “Just deep breaths. Can you do that for me?”

Becca dropped her face to her hands again and mumbled, “Yeah, I think so.”

Of course she could. When Tressa allowed her soothing Gift to imbue her voice, it made dealing with the emotional victims much easier. She watched the woman take a few deep breaths, noting the tears drying up in the process.

That’s it, Tressa thought. Let the calm flow through you. Release yourself to it. Surrender your grief and just breathe.

She didn’t love using her Gift to manipulate people, but it was a necessary evil sometimes. And she wasn’t messing with their brains too much. She just relaxed them a little. Like a walking, talking Xanax.

No, the manipulation would come in a few minutes when she had to use compulsion on the woman. That ability inherent to all vampires was the only way to convince Becca a rogue hadn’t ripped out her husband’s throat while their young daughter stood there and watched.

Tressa sighed. She didn’t mind her job as the cadre’s one-woman clean-up crew. She really didn’t. She was giving these people peace after a highly traumatic incident. And if by doing so she also managed to keep the existence of vampires a secret, that was just a bonus.

Still… some days the years weighed on her, making her wonder if her life would ever be anything more than what it was.

“Who are you?” Becca asked, rubbing her bloodshot eyes.

Tressa took a second to analyze the woman’s pulse and breathing.

Becca’s level of anxiety had dropped from a traumatic, life-altering event to something more like a minor car crash, and that would have to be close enough.

She preferred them a bit more soothed, but the day was rolling into evening, and she was tired.

Not even vampires were immune to burn out.

“I’m a counselor,” Tressa replied, offering up her tried and true lie. “And I just need a moment of your time.”

The woman dropped her hands, meeting Tressa’s gaze once more. “What do you want from me?”

Locking her eyes with Becca’s, Tressa whispered, “Believe.”

And here we go, she thought as the framing word took hold and the woman’s eyes turned glassy and distant from the compulsion.

“Your husband was murdered this evening in a mugging gone wrong,” Tressa said, maintaining the mental connection with Becca.

“The mugger had a knife and stabbed him. It sprayed blood on your shirt. It was awful, but you don’t want to think about it too much.

You just want to focus on comforting your daughter and grieving for your loss. In the end, you’ll both be okay.”

“We’ll be okay,” the woman echoed in a monotonous tone, as if she were on autopilot.

With a deep exhale, Tressa let the connection slip away.

She had no doubts the compulsion would hold.

Even without the aid of supernatural abilities, people would always choose to believe the comforting lie.

Nope, no murderous vampires hiding in the shadows.

Just another example of human brutality.

Tragic, but something that happened every day in the world.

Tressa gave the woman a pat on the shoulder and stood up. “You should go get cleaned off,” she told Becca. “You don’t want your daughter to see the blood.”

The fogginess cleared from Becca’s eyes as the woman shook the trance off. “You’re right,” she said, her voice steadier. “I should go do that.”

Watching Becca hurry off down the hall toward the restroom, Tressa removed the clip that held her long black hair in a bun and let out a deep exhale of pleasure as the tension released from her scalp.

Another mission accomplished. Time to go home.

Well, almost. Tressa had already taken care of the daughter’s memories, but things could be dicey with children’s developing brains.

Since the girl’s trauma had warranted an overnight stay in the hospital for observation, Tressa might as well pop by her room one last time before returning to Fall River Mills and the cadre of vamps that was her family.

Strolling down the hospital corridor, Tressa chuckled as she thought back on everything her cousin, Saiden, had recently gone through to woo his new mate, Cora. The fiery horror film director had definitely disrupted their lives over the past couple weeks, in all the best ways possible.

Even though Cora hadn’t wanted to become a vampire initially, she had taken to the undead life with ease.

Not to mention her presence had turned Saiden from Sir Grumps-a-lot into Sir Grumps-a-little-less.

He still sported his signature scowl most of the time, but whenever his eyes landed on his mate, it was like Tressa could see a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

And she loved nothing more than to tease him about it.

Cracking open the door to the girl’s room, Tressa peered inside and found the young one fast asleep with a relaxed expression on her face, a crochet octopus clutched tightly in her arms. Tressa grinned at the familiar stuffed toy, then gently closed the door.

Pleased that everything was once again right in the world, Tressa took off at a brisk pace, heading toward the exit.

She was already leaving later than she planned, but the police had detained the woman for longer than Tressa had anticipated, meaning the single blood bag she brought with her was long gone.

The five-hour drive back to the compound in eastern California was going to seriously suck.

The hallway echoed with the satisfying tick tack of her lemon yellow pumps as she made her way out of the children’s ward and back into the main corridor. Beyond that, the hospital was relatively quiet with daytime visiting hours nearing their end.

She turned a corner, and an intoxicating scent hit her like a punch to the face.

Creamy sweet vanilla.

Tressa froze mid stride and took a deep inhale. A groan nearly slipped from her lips as a shiver ran down her spine, and all thoughts of leaving vanished.

She didn’t often eat food, but something about the smell made her mouth water, a hunger building inside her that was so foreign to the usual cravings for blood.

Her feet carried her several yards down the hallway before she even registered that she was moving, her mind reeling from the scent and her body marching forward of its own volition.

She thought following her nose would take her toward the front of the hospital where visitors and overworked staff flocked to the café and gift shop, but nope. It took her down a hallway marked Long-Term Care.

Odd place for a bakery, Tressa mused as she drifted down the dimly lit corridor, drawn on by the hypnotizing aroma.

Seconds later, she found herself in front of room 113, the source of that creamy vanilla scent. Her shoulders slumped, her hopes crushed. It was probably just a ‘get well’ treat brought in for a patient.

Rising on her toes to spin back toward the exit, she glanced through the small window in the door, and her eyes landed on a body lying in the hospital bed. Something about the sleeping man caught her attention, and a slight tug in her chest prevented her from walking away.

He was cute, no doubt, even with all the wires hooked up to his body.

Shaggy, dirty blond hair fell to his shoulders, and his chiseled jaw sported at least a couple months growth of facial hair.

His expression was relaxed in sleep, but she couldn’t help but notice the tension lines around his eyes, as if his dreams were filled with terrible images.

A strange sensation tickled the back of her mind, urging her to investigate, and Tressa’s hand landed on the doorknob.

A gust of air wooshed out when she entered the room, and that siren scent smacked her in the face again. Even if she stuck her nose in a bag of fresh-baked cookies, the smell shouldn’t be anywhere near that potent, heightened vampire senses aside.

She scanned the room, but there was no evidence of any tasty treats.

In fact, the space was essentially empty aside from the medical equipment and an unused guest chair.

No get well cards or photos. No flowers or balloons.

No magazines or books to be read. Whoever this guy was, it didn’t look like he’d had a single visitor.

Letting the door swing shut behind her, she took a few steps closer to the patient, intrigued by the mystery of the sleeping man.

A chart hung at the foot of his bed, and curiosity had the file in her hand before she could even ask herself what the heck she was doing.

She spent a lot of time at this hospital dealing with rogue vampire victims, and the last thing she needed was to get banned for sneaking into a patient’s room and reading his private medical record.

She could only compel one person at a time, so she’d be more than a little screwed if multiple security guards showed up to drag her out of the building.

And yet, not an ounce of that logic was able to silence the persistent voice in her head that whispered there was more to this guy than meets the eye.

Flipping open the chart, she read through the first page.

At first glance, it was all pretty basic.

Name: Ethan Ambrose. Age: thirty-two. Occupation: botanist. She flipped over to the intake notes next, skimming through the documentation that said he was found unconscious outside his laboratory when authorities showed up to deal with a burning building.

Under cause of injuries, it simply said, “animal attack.”

Tressa scrolled through more pages, but nothing leapt out at her as to why she couldn’t shake her curiosity about the man.

Of course, there was a possibility the so-called “animal attack” was actually the result of a rogue vampire.

It was a common enough rationalization they’d heard police officers use in the past. But why hadn’t Baylin sent her to deal with his memories if that was the case?

The question rolled around in her brain until she reached the very bottom of the page.

Status: Medical coma induced.

Medical coma? Tressa tossed a glance up at the sleeping man. Well, that explained all the wires, though she couldn’t see any specific damage or injury from whatever had attacked him. Turning back to the file, she checked the date on the first note—three months ago.

Damn. That made the lack of cards and balloons even more depressing. Three months without a single visitor.

How was that even possible?

Making a mental note to call Baylin about a potentially missed vampire victim, she dropped the chart back on the hook and moved along the side of the bed to lean over him.

His eyes twitched rapidly, which seemed strange for a coma patient, and the furrow etched into his brow only deepened as she brought her face closer to his.

She didn’t know why, but for some reason, Tressa couldn’t help but press her thumb to his forehead in an attempt to smooth out the tension lines.

The second her finger grazed his face, lightning shot down her skin, and steel gray eyes flew open, locking onto hers.

Then he started screaming.