A Fire in the Blood

  Of course, neither had Mr. Holbrook, the town recluse, who had been Cutter’s Corner’s first victim. Or Miss Garcia, who had taught third grade. Or the two transients—one who had been found in a ditch alongside the freeway, the other in a Dumpster. Five mysterious deaths in as many months. And yet, if what the papers said was true, maybe not so mysterious.

  When Jileen nudged her, Tessa looked up, startled from her morbid thoughts. “Let’s go,” Jileen said quietly. “It’s over.”

  Tessa glanced at Mrs. Kowalski’s family—her husband, Joe; their three daughters and seven grandchildren. “In a minute.” Sighing, she made her way toward them.

  It wasn’t fair, she thought. Mr. Holbrook had been a widower who rarely left his house. Miss Garcia had been an old maid. Sure, Mr. Holbrook and Miss Garcia had had friends who would miss them, but Mrs. Kowalski had a husband and grown children who loved her, grandchildren who needed their grandmother.

  After offering her condolences to Mrs. Kowalski’s husband and children, Tessa headed for home. It was Saturday, the day she set aside to clean her apartment, do her laundry, wash her car. She usually had her chores done by early afternoon, but the funeral had thrown her off schedule.

  It didn’t take long to dust and vacuum her small apartment. After a late lunch, she pulled the sheets from her bed, then gathered up the rest of her laundry and drove to the Laundromat. As soon as she got enough money saved, she was moving to a larger place, one that provided washers and dryers on the premises. Or, better yet, inside every unit.

  She sorted the lights from the darks, poured in soap and fabric softener, and settled down on one of the hard plastic chairs. E-reader in hand, Tessa soon lost herself in one of the mystery novels she had downloaded earlier in the week.

  By the time her clothes were washed, dried, and folded, and she had stopped at the gas station to fill up her gas tank, night had fallen.

  * * *

  Tessa paused as she lifted the laundry basket out of the trunk. Mouth dry, she glanced around the building’s dimly lit parking lot. She felt it again, that same shivery sense that she was being watched. She told herself it was only her overactive imagination, but the creepy feeling remained.

  Someone was watching her.

  She slammed the trunk lid down, took a firm hold on the basket, and ran for the outside stairs that led to the second floor. If it was her imagination, she would laugh about it when she was safely inside, sipping a cup of hot tea. If it wasn’t . . .

  She had just reached the stairway when a hand closed over her shoulder.

  Tessa shrieked, the basket falling from her hands, clothes scattering around her feet, when her attacker slammed her against the side of the building.

  She tried to scream, but fear clogged her throat when she looked into his eyes—eyes that burned as bright and red as the fires of hell.

  Fight! Her mind screamed at her. You’ve got to fight!

  But she couldn’t move, couldn’t look away from those mesmerizing devil-red eyes.

  Her attacker smiled, revealing a pair of very sharp, very white, finely pointed fangs.

  Vampire! The word rang like thunder in her mind. I’m dead.

  She was trying to accept the fact that her life was over when, suddenly, the vampire was no longer holding her, but sprawled facedown at her feet, a thick wooden stake protruding from its back.

  Tessa slumped against the wall, one hand at her throat, unable to take her gaze from the dead vampire.

  “Are you all right?”

  Her rescuer’s voice, low and oddly compelling, reminded her that she wasn’t alone.

  Tessa looked up slowly, a shiver skating down her spine. Like the vampire, this man was dressed all in black. Was he here to help, she wondered morbidly, or was he another vampire, come to finish what the dead one had started?

  “Are you all right?” he asked again.

  When she didn’t answer, he took a step toward her, stopped when she cringed against the wall.

  “I mean you no harm.” His voice moved over her like dark velvet, warm and comforting. “You’re safe now.”

  Safe? She felt a hysterical bubble of laughter rise in her throat. Safe, with a dead vampire at her feet and a stranger blocking the stairway?

  He lifted one brow. “Can you speak?”

  She blinked at him, and then she did laugh. Laughed until tears ran down her cheeks.

  The stranger muttered something in a language Tessa didn’t understand and then, between one breath and the next, he drew her into his arms. She struggled at first but then, realizing he truly didn’t intend to hurt her, she sagged against him, her whole body trembling in the aftermath of the attack.

  Gradually, she grew aware of him, of the strength of his arms around her, of the odd scent that clung to him. She spent a moment trying to determine what it was, but other sensations flooded her senses. The cloth of his jacket was soft beneath her cheek, probably expensive. He was tall, his chest solid as granite, yet his hand was gentle—almost a caress—as he stroked her back.

  He held her until her trembling ceased. When her tears subsided, he offered her his handkerchief—fine linen embroidered with the initials A. D. It seemed a shame to use it, she thought as she dried her eyes and blew her nose.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Just a concerned citizen,” he replied, taking a step away from her. “Good evening.”

  A dozen questions popped into Tessa’s mind, but he was already walking away. She stooped to gather her laundry and when she looked up again, he was out of sight.

  * * *

  Andrei Dinescu hovered outside the woman’s living room window, shamelessly eavesdropping. She had notified the police earlier. Two officers had responded twenty minutes later. Now Andrei listened intently as she explained, slowly and calmly, what had happened.

  The taller of the two cops—his name tag identified him as Officer Braxton—took notes while the other—Officer Gaines—asked questions, most of which were cut and dried where the dead vampire was concerned. They were, however, far too interested in learning about the man who had saved her.

  The woman—Tessa—shook her head. “I didn’t get his name,” she said, glancing from one officer to the other. “I never saw him before.”

  “And he just showed up, staked the vampire, and left?” the shorter cop asked, his tone blatantly skeptical.

  She nodded.

  “You’re sure you’ve never seen him before?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” she snapped. “What difference does it make?”

  The cops exchanged glances.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.

  The tall policeman shut his notebook. “Thank you for your help, Miss Blackburn.”

  She rose when the officers moved toward the door. “He was just a hunter, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he?”

  “Good night, ma’am,” Officer Gaines said. “In the future, you might want to make sure you’re inside behind locked doors before dark.”

  She stared after them a moment, then double-locked the door.

  Andrei drifted down to the sidewalk. Hands shoved into his pants’ pockets, he strolled down the street. What was there about this woman that attracted vampires from all over the country into his city? But for his timely intervention on several occasions, she would have been dead weeks ago.

  Or worse.

  Perhaps in a day or two he would arrange to meet her, up close and personal, and see if he could discover her allure.

  * * *

  “A vampire attacked you?” Jileen stared at Tessa in disbelief. “Saturday night? At your place? Are you serious?”

  “Of course I’m serious. Why on earth would I make up such a story?”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Tessa shook her head. She had spent most of Sunday trying not to think about what had happened. Or about the man who had saved her from almost certain death. “I know I should have called, but I just didn’t want to talk about it, yo
u know? It was still too fresh in my mind.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “No, just scared me half to death.”

  Jileen put her sandwich aside and laid her hand on Tessa’s arm. “You are so lucky to be alive. How did you get away?”

  “I didn’t. Some man I’ve never seen before showed up out of nowhere and drove a stake through its heart.” Tessa shuddered at the memory. “It was . . .” She shook her head, unable to find the words to describe the shock. The horror.

  “Girlfriend, I am so glad you’re okay. I . . . what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “It’s him,” Tessa whispered as her rescuer entered the café. “He’s here.”

  “Who’s here?”

  “The man who saved me.”

  “Really?” Jileen glanced over her shoulder. “Where?”

  “That tall, dark-haired man. Over there, by the door.”

  “He saved you? Geez, I hope you got his name and phone number. He’s gorgeous.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Tessa murmured. But she was noticing now. As Jileen had said, he was drop-dead gorgeous. Tall, and again clad all in black—silk shirt, slacks, and boots—he had long, ebony hair, dark eyes, a blade of a nose, sensuous lips, a strong jaw.

  He inclined his head in her direction and then started toward her.

  “He’s coming over!” Tessa exclaimed. “What do you think he wants?”

  “I don’t know,” Jileen said. “Just be sure to introduce me.”

  The stranger smiled at Tessa. “You’re well?” he asked. “No ill effects from your ordeal?”

  “I’m fine, thanks to you,” Tessa replied with a tentative smile. “This is my friend Jileen. Jileen, this is . . . I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

  “Andrei,” he said with a bow. “Andrei Dinescu.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” Jileen said. “Won’t you join us?”

  “Thank you.” In a single fluid movement, he pulled out a chair and lowered himself onto it. “So, what are you lovely ladies up to this afternoon?”

  “Taking a long lunch,” Jileen answered, smiling expansively.

  “Working girls?” he asked.

  “Not that kind,” Jileen said, grinning.

  Tessa glared at her friend.

  “What is it you do, Mr. Dinescu?” Jileen leaned forward, allowing him a glimpse of her generous cleavage.

  “Andrei, please. I collect and sell antiques.”

  “Really? I love antiques,” Jileen said.

  “You must come by my shop sometime,” he said, but he was looking at Tessa.

  “Yes, well,” Jileen muttered, sitting back in her chair. “I think I’ll just go on back to work. See you later, Tess. Mr. Dinescu.”

  He nodded, his gaze still on Tessa. “Did you tell your friend what happened Saturday night?”

  “Of course. I tell her everything.”

  His gaze moved over her. “Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”

  “No harm done, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be all right again. I hate to think what would have happened if you hadn’t come along when you did.”

  He made a vague gesture with his hand. “I’m glad I was there.”

  Tessa nodded, her gaze trapped by his dark one, by the mellifluous tone of his voice. By the sheer beauty of the man.

  Suddenly flustered, she reached for her drink. To her chagrin, she knocked the glass over, spilling iced tea across the table and into his lap. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s all right,” he said, flashing a heart-stopping smile. “Unlike the Wicked Witch of the West, I won’t melt.”

  Tessa handed him several napkins, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at acting like such a klutz in front of the man who had saved her life. “I’ll be glad to pay to have your trousers cleaned.”

  “No need. But there is something you can do for me.”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Go out with me Friday night.”

  She blinked at him. The man had saved her life and she was grateful, but he was a stranger. Granted, an extraordinarily handsome stranger, but still . . . “I’m sorry, but . . .”

  He held up one hand, putting a stop to her protest. “I understand. We’ve only just met. Maybe we could double-date with your friend? Or I could meet you somewhere, say, at the movies?”

  “I don’t know . . . I don’t think I want to be out after dark again anytime soon.”

  He nodded. “I understand. Perhaps a matinee on Saturday? I’ll even spring for popcorn.”

  “You’re very persistent.”

  He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You have no idea.”

  “All right. I’ll meet you at the Orpheum at two o’clock.” The movie should be over no later than four thirty, giving her plenty of time to get home before dark.

  Pushing away from the table, he took her hand in his and kissed it. “Until then, dragostea mea.” With a slight bow, he turned and headed for the door.

  Her skin felt hot, tingly, where his lips had touched her.

  Watching him walk away, Tessa couldn’t help noticing that he looked just as hot from the back as he did from the front.

  * * *

  Hands shoved into his pockets, his thoughts turned inward, Andrei strolled slowly down the street, the distinctive scent of Tessa’s blood lingering in his nostrils. Never in his seven hundred years had he encountered anything like it. Had he been newly turned and out of control, he would likely have dragged her into the nearest alley and drained her dry. Hell, as old as he was, it was still a temptation.

  The question was, why did her blood smell differently from that of other humans? Each blood type had its own unique taste and smell, altered only by the individual’s dining habits and addictions. But Tessa . . . her scent was like . . . like . . . Andrei shook his head. He had nothing to compare it with.

  But one thing he did know: He had to taste her, at least once.

  The thought of blood fired his hunger. Making an abrupt change in direction, he headed for his favorite goth hangout on the southern edge of the city.

  The Crypt, built of gray stone inside and out, pandered to those who were fascinated by the undead or by death itself. Movie posters depicting Dracula in all his incarnations lined the walls. An antique, glass-sided hearse—complete with a stuffed horse and a mannequin attired in black burial garb—stood in one corner. A life-size statue of the infamous count occupied another. It was a favorite spot for tourists to pose for pictures.

  Music assaulted his ears when he stepped into the club. That alone told any vampire who entered the place that the Crypt was owned by mortals. Andrei tuned out the noise as best he could as he made his way to the bar, where he ordered a glass of red wine.

  He stood there, glass in hand, and let his vampire glamor seep into the room. In less than a minute, three women made their way to his side. He smiled inwardly as he looked them over. The redhead was tipsy. The brunette was high on some exotic drug. The blonde reminded him of Tessa. Gazing deep into her eyes, he took her by the hand and drew her behind the hearse.

  He whispered in her ear, soft words to soothe her as he lowered his head and sank his fangs into her throat.

  Chapter Three

  Tessa stared at the clock on her office wall. Usually, her days flew by, but not this week. For the first time that she could remember, her workload was exceptionally light, giving her way too much time to think about Andrei Dinescu. He’d said he sold antiques. So how was it that an antiques dealer just happened to be passing by her condo on Saturday night at the very moment she was being attacked? And how was it that he just happened to have a sharp wooden stake handy?

  She grinned inwardly. Maybe he was some kind of superhero—mild-mannered shop owner by day, audacious crime fighter by night.

  Or maybe, as she had first suspected, he was a vampire slayer, although he didn’t look like any of the hunters she had seen in town.

  She glanced
at the clock again. Finally, time to call it a day. She planned to have dinner at Jileen’s after work, but that wasn’t the thought that had her smiling as she slipped on her coat, grabbed her handbag out of the bottom drawer of her desk, and headed for the elevator.

  It was the thought of spending time with Andrei tomorrow afternoon.

  * * *

  Jileen was all smiles when she opened the door later that evening.

  “What are you looking so happy about?” Tessa asked. “Did you win the lottery or something?”

  “Better.”

  Tessa groaned. That dreamy look in Jileen’s eyes could only mean one thing. “Who is he?”

  “Shh. His name’s Luke Moran. He’s a vampire hunter. And he’s in the kitchen mixing martinis.”

  “What? Jil, this was supposed to be girls’ night. We were going to binge on pizza and brownies and watch the new Iron Man DVD. No men allowed.”

  “I know, I know,” Jileen whispered. “But I met him at the pizza place earlier tonight and we started talking and I told him about your near-death experience and he said he’d really like to meet you . . . and . . .” She shrugged. “So sue me, I’m weak when it comes to hunky guys with big biceps and blond hair.”

  “How could you tell some stranger what happened to me?” Tessa asked, trying to hang on to her temper. “I’m trying to forget it.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. But wait until you see him!”

  Tessa glanced at her faded jeans and Avengers sweatshirt. “If I’d known you were having company, I would have worn something a little more appropriate.”

  “You look fine. Come on.”

  Heaving a sigh, Tessa let Jileen drag her into the kitchen.

  “Luke Moran, this is Tessa Blackburn. Tess, this is Luke.”

  It was easy to see why Jileen was smitten, Tessa thought as she exchanged pleasantries with Luke. He was tall and quite handsome, with a shock of ash-blond hair and dark brown eyes.

  Tessa and Jileen sat at the kitchen table while he poured drinks for each of them.

  The table was already set with plates and napkins. Jileen opened the large pizza box in the center of the table with a flourish. “Dive in,” she invited.

  They made small talk over dinner. Tessa was content to let Jileen and Luke carry the bulk of the conversation until it turned to vampires. Luke, it seemed, had arrived in town only a few days ago, drawn by a story on the national news about the recent deaths in Cutter’s Corner.