Chapter 5
A fter leaving Tessa, Amos spent an hour trying to track the thrall he’d chased off. But there was hardly any trail, and he eventually had to concede defeat. He didn’t like that Tessa’s attacker was still out there. The urge to betray his agreement with her, to remain near her workplace, keeping guard until the sun rose, was nearly impossible to resist. But the possibility of her finding out, feeling deceived, being angry and disappointed with him, was the stronger aversion. With great reluctance, he went home. He reassured himself over and over again that the sun would rise by the end of her shift, and she would be safe.
When Amos reached his front door, he paused, his senses tingling with warning. He couldn’t quite say what it was that alerted him. Nothing was out of place. There were no unfamiliar scents lingering. The house was quiet and dark. His awareness shifted, sharpened, as he silently eased the door open. As soon as he set foot inside the house, the scent of blood hit him like a slap. It wasn’t much blood. But it didn’t need to be. Like a shark, the merest speck of it called to his predatory instincts.
But he recognized this bloodscent. With a suppressed sigh, he moved down the hall, past the sitting room, to the living room where he relaxed on his own or with close friends. He hesitated before the doorway, taking a second to brace himself. When he finally stepped into the room, he was greeted with a joyful squeal and suffocating hug.
“Amos!” Loretta Brooks was over a century old, but would forever look nineteen. When she’d turned Amos, she’d been a tiny, knobby-kneed, hollow-cheeked, frizzy-haired waif. Now, her hair was thick and long, worn down to the small of her back in thin locs that transitioned from the natural black color of her hair at the roots, to hot pink at the ends. Her makeup made her look like the Hollywood interpretation of a vampire—glamorous and uncannily flawless—and decades of comfortable attachment to a bloodmate had put a healthy luster in her deep brown skin and a joyful gleam in her eyes.
“Hello, Etta.” He scooped her up in a crushing hug, lifting her feet off the ground and earning another happy squeal directly into his ear canal. He set her down with a grimace and rubbed his ringing ear.
“Sorry, honey,” Etta said with a sheepish smile. “It’s just so good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too. Hello, Fran,” he greeted his dam’s bloodmate.
Francine Piotrowski was Etta’s visual opposite. Tall and slim to Etta’s petite curviness, with ivory pale skin to Etta’s rich brown, she wore her coppery-red hair in the sort of severe undercut that had been popular among men in the days when Amos was first turned. In stark contrast to Etta’s electric-blue jumpsuit and silver-studded, high-heeled boots, Fran was dressed simply in an oversized white sweater with ripped jeans and the sort of boots Amos had worn in his mortal life. Etta’s claim mark, a silvery bright scar, was visible high on Fran’s neck, just below her jaw. She had been twenty-five years old when she’d met Etta, back in the early seventies, and thanks to the regenerative powers of Etta’s venom, Fran would continue to look twenty-five forever.
“Hey, Amos,” Fran greeted him with a slightly-drunken sounding drawl, her gaze a little unfocused. The marks where Etta had fed on her were still healing, but her bloodscent was dissipating from the air. Slowly, the acuity returned to her gaze as the feeding euphoria lifted.
“So, child of mine,” Etta began, catching Amos’s arm and dragging him over to sit on the sofa with her and Fran.
Amos scoffed at the endearment. “I’m older than you.”
“Not in vampire years,” she shot back with a self-satisfied smirk. “Now, my precious offspring—”
“Etta,” Amos growled.
“Leave the poor man alone,” Fran chided, failing to hide her amusement.
Undeterred, Etta cast him a saturnine smile. “Well, let me get straight to the point, then. I was surprised to find you weren’t home when we got here. Have you been going out? Have you been socializing? ”
Even though it’d been three days since he’d fed from Tessa, he was apparently still capable of blushing. He felt his cheeks warm. “I go out,” he said defensively. “This is hardly—”
Etta stared at his reddening face. Her mouth fell open as her eyes went round as saucers .
“Babe?” Fran touched her shoulder, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re getting live blood,” Etta said faintly, wide eyes still fixed on Amos’s reddened face. “Did you find a bloodmate? And you never introduced me? Oh, Amos, how could you? How long has this been going on? Does the Council know?”
“I don’t have a bloodmate,” Amos said, forcing the words out.
Etta stiffened.
“And I’m not hunting,” he added.
She relaxed. “Then… how?”
“I…” He scrubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck. His face grew warmer. “I signed up with a donor service.”
Etta’s brow furrowed. “No, not one of those mercenary blood-for-pay places?”
“Yes. One of those.”
“Amos,” she said softly, appalled. “Those places… they’re so… wrong . It’s such a violation of the intimacy of feeding. And there’s such a risk with exposing yourself to a stranger! Jesus, tell me you’re being safe.”
For all her bouncy cheer, Etta was as protective a dam as Amos had ever witnessed. He was simultaneously touched and annoyed by her concern.
“I’m perfectly safe, mother,” he said dryly. “My donor is trustworthy. And she may not be my bloodmate, but she’s… a friend.”
The seriousness faded from Etta’s expression, salacious interest gleaming in her eyes. “A friend , is she? Might this friend become more someday?” Etta waggled her eyebrows.
Amos stared back at her, unamused. “We’ve only known each other for a week. ”
“That doesn’t answer my question, sonny boy.”
He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe? It’s too soon to hope.” Not that that had stopped him.
“Hmmm.” Etta sank back against Fran, studying Amos.
Fran shifted, wrapping both her arms around Etta, resting her chin atop Etta’s head. “So… how was it? Having live blood for the first time in… how long? Since the blood banks started running. When was that?”
“Nearly a century.”
“Christ,” Fran said. “No wonder you decided to pay for it.”
“But how was it?” Etta demanded impatiently.
“Good,” Amos answered flatly. He could feel his face heating all over again.
Etta cackled. “I’ll bet. And the donor? What did she think?”
“She’s a B&B,” he blurted out.
Fran and Etta were both stunned speechless. After a moment, Etta was the first to find her tongue. “ No, ” she gasped, scandalized delight shining in her eyes. “She…when you feed…”
Fran let out a low whistle. “Lucky girl.”
Amos nodded. He wanted to dunk his burning face in an ice bath. He shouldn’t have said anything, but he didn’t have anybody else to talk to about it. Vampires were solitary by nature, forming bonds only with bloodmates and progeny, but otherwise keeping to themselves. That didn’t mean loneliness didn’t affect them. Especially for a vampire with no bloodmate.
“No wonder she signed up to be a donor,” Etta said.
“She didn’t know.”
“How could she not know?” Fran asked .
“She’s never been fed from before.”
Etta’s eyes widened. “Are you the only vampire she’s feeding?”
Amos scowled. “Yes. Of course.”
“Well, I’m sorry, darling. I don’t know how these things work. I assumed the donors had a rotation of clients.”
“No. I’m her only…” He couldn’t bring himself to say client . “Her only one.”
“Well, I suppose that makes this whole thing seem a little less… commercial,” Etta conceded.
Her grudging acceptance rankled. Amos scowled at her. “It’s easy for you to talk about the sanctity of feeding when you’ve had live blood on tap for the last fifty years.”
“Hey,” Fran said mildly. “I’m right here.”
Amos gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry, Fran. You know I don’t think you’re just blood on tap.”
Fran rolled her eyes but smiled good-naturedly.
At the same time, Etta grimaced at herself. “You’re right, Amos. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a self-righteous nag. I just worry about you. I can’t help it.”
Amos let his annoyance go. “I know you do. I suppose I appreciate it. Sometimes. A little bit.”
Back on comfortable footing with each other, Etta changed the topic. “You might be wondering why I came by?”
“Isn’t the pleasure of my company reason enough?” Amos asked, masking his amusement with a dry tone. He knew Etta would find any reason to come by, perhaps more often than Amos would necessarily care for. Not that he didn’t enjoy her visits. She just tended to give no warning and liked to strong-arm Amos into larks he’d rather not be a part of. After more than a century of vampirism, he’d adjusted well to the solitude. He vaguely remembered that even before being turned, he hadn’t exactly been a social butterfly. But, because of his introversion, Etta always showed up with a non-social pretense for her visit.
“Of course it is,” she said, shooting him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing. “Anyways, I don’t suppose you’ve heard the news about Alex Markov?”
Amos sighed. “What has the fucker done now?”
Alex Markov was possibly the oldest vampire residing in Chicago. Nobody knew his true age. Whatever it was, he was ancient enough to possess powers that most vampires could only dream of attaining. He could resist daysleep. He was known to decorporealize and travel through shadows. It was rumored that he could inhabit dreams and communicate through telepathy. He allegedly had a bloodmate, but it was widely believed that he’d enthralled her rather than won her over through courtship—which was no better than psychic rape, and he probably hadn’t shied away from physical rape, either.
Amos had never met him, for which he was grateful, because nothing good was ever said of him. He was an unstoppable force of corruption and cruelty, and the Council did absolutely nothing to intervene.
“Well, he’s dead.”
Amos’s brows rose. “Who managed that? Did one of the Councilors finally grow a spine?”
“Nope. Werewolves,” Etta said.
Despite the sadistic pleasure of knowing Alex Markov had been wiped off the planet, Amos was alarmed. “Wolves? In the city?” Wolves didn’t usually come into cities—it was one of the reasons that vampires tended to be urban dwellers .
“No, he was killed in Alaska, of all places. The Council only found out about it because one of his thralls was discovered by the Anchorage Council— yes , the monster had been turning thralls, and no, we have no idea how many of the poor things he created. The girl was trying to get to where she’d last felt his pull—somewhere in the interior. Well, except for a desperate thrall, nobody’s stupid enough to go marching into what is obviously wolf territory, so we’ll never know for sure, I suppose. But it seems pretty open and shut at this point.”
“Good riddance. Why should I care what happened to him?”
Etta shrugged. “It’s at least gratifying to know he’s gone, no?”
“Would’ve been more gratifying if the Council had done something about him before he created and abandoned an unknown number of thralls.”
She sighed. “He was one of the oldest vampires in the Western Hemisphere. He was clever and powerful. It would’ve taken the entire Council to take him down, and you know how politics goes with that sort of thing.”
“Sure. People suffer, but as long as it’s not affecting the Councilors personally, then who fucking cares, right?”
“The story of mankind,” Fran said grimly.
Etta squeezed her arm in silent agreement. “Anyway, sireless thralls are a problem for all of us. We need to get them rounded up and sorted out. I’ve already told the Council I would help. You should consider—”
“Of course I’ll help,” Amos said immediately, thinking of the thrall who’d attacked Tessa. Had that been one of Markov’s? And how many more were out there? Tessa worked nights. She’d be out and exposed while a bunch of untethered thralls were loose. Anxiety spiked through him like a knife to his heart. The urge to go back, to keep watch over her was so strong, he was halfway to the front door before he realized what he was doing.
He had promised her that he wouldn’t do that. He had promised . His hands curled into fists. He didn’t want to break his word, but honoring it left him totally helpless to protect her. He couldn’t even call to warn her, because he didn’t have her phone number—a now glaring oversight that should’ve been handled when they’d made their agreement just a few hours earlier.
“Amos?” Etta appeared behind him, her hand landing gently on his arm. “What’s wrong?”
There was nothing for it. He was going to have to break his promise to Tessa. He could rationalize that he was looking for thralls—not her. It was a razor-thin technicality, but he’d take it.
“I have to go,” he said, continuing to the door.
“What, now? The sun’s coming up in two hours!”
“I’ll be safe, I promise. But I have to go.” And then he was out the door, Etta’s objection ringing after him.
He took a position on the rooftop of the hospice. He could see approachers from every direction, and with the way the wind eddied through the buildings, he’d have a good chance of picking up a thrall’s scent before they came into sight.
Knowing that he could protect Tessa put his mind at ease, even if guilt prickled at him. He settled in and watched.
The rest of the night passed without any thralls appearing. Above the lights of the city, the sky began to subtly lighten. The untethered thralls would be hunkered down in their daysleep, no longer a danger until sunset. Amos shifted to leave but froze when, below, the employees’ door banged open. A group of people emerged, chatting in the cheerfully exhausted way people at the end of their shift usually did. Amos crouched near the edge of the roof, hidden in the shadow of a turbine vent, and peered intently at them. Tessa wasn’t among them.
He waited for the humans to disperse so he could discreetly leave the roof. The dawn’s brightness was beginning to burn at his skin. Daysleep tugged at his mind, but he blinked and resisted it. The sky continued to grow lighter. Amos pulled his hood further forward. Just when he was going to cross the roof, the door below banged open again, and he heard the sound of her voice.
“—hate when it comes to that, but what else are we supposed to do?” Tessa said tiredly.
“It’s a shitty situation all around,” another female voice responded. “You did the right thing, girl. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“I’m already over it,” Tessa said with a tired laugh. “So, you’re off tomorrow and Wednesday? Got any good plans?”
“Ha, for once, I actually do.”
The sound of the women’s footsteps carried them away from the hospice, towards the train station. Amos couldn’t help but look towards them, hoping for a sight of Tessa. But the light was too blinding for him now. Grimacing, he turned away from it. Crossing the roof, he slipped silently down the side of the building and landed lightly on the pavement. The shadow cast by the building spared him the burn of the rising sun, but it only lasted for a second. He had to step into the open light to cross the street.
Hissing in pain, Amos tried to hunch deeper inside his jacket, but it did him no good. Blistering heat washed over him as smoke curled faintly off his skin. He moved as quickly as he could, keeping to the shadows of trees and houses. He moved unevenly, overwhelmed by the dizzying nausea of fighting his daysleep. Block by excruciating block, he finally made it back to his house. He staggered over the threshold, falling to his knees inside the front entryway. Holding himself up by the doorknob, he shut the door and struggled to lock it.
The skin on his hands was scorched red and raw from the sun. His burning face was likely just as bad, if not worse. With his stomach in his throat, body wracked with tremors, Amos crawled on hands and knees towards the stairs, trying to reach his light-proofed bedroom. He stumbled up the stairs like an arthritic dog. His vision swam in and out. He paused on the landing, retching painfully. His arms gave out and he crashed face-first against the floorboards.
Groaning, he tried to right himself, but he could hardly tell up from down and his muscles refused to participate in the efforts. Amos couldn’t fight it any longer. He curled in on himself and surrendered to the daysleep.