Grave Expectations - Jess Vandermire 4 Read online

  She nodded. She had so much faith in him, she didn’t even have to think about it.

  “Once I got him far enough away from the monastery, he told me there’s another person like me in the city.”

  She gasped. “Who?”

  “An evangelist named Malcolm Fisk.” There, that threw cold water on his libidinous thoughts.

  “Evangelist?”

  “Yes, an evangelist, who seems to have built a huge following in the city, practically overnight.”

  “Does he know what he is?” Jess asked.

  “Definitely,” he said. If the blue light arcing between us meant anything. “But more important, I spotted vampires coming and going into his place before I met you at the rectory.”

  Jess chewed her full, red, kissable lips. “Vampires, plural?”

  He nodded. “Older than any vampires I’ve ever seen. I’d feel pretty confident in saying they aren’t from around here.”

  “Europeans?” She let out a long breath. “Not good.”

  “What makes you think they’re European?” he asked.

  “They’ve been around the longest. We’re a fairly young continent, and not many olde vampires ever leave their origins. But why would olde ones have anything to do with a man who could wipe them off the face of the earth with less than a thought?”

  Her description felt like a knife twisting in Britt’s gut.

  ‘That’s our mission then,” she said. “Should we call in the team to work on this?”

  Hell no. “I don’t want the team going anywhere near this guy. I’ve already made first contact, and I’m going to go to his next sermon. And Jess … I’m going in on this one alone.”

  “You damned well are not!”

  He closed his eyes and exhaled. “How’d I know you’d say that?”

  KEEPING HER CARNAL urges reined in around Britt tonight made her moody. So what? She was a damned vampire—she had every right to be a bitch. She sighed and drove her fingernails into her palms to prove she could still feel.

  If she wasn’t a millstone around his neck, he’d be able to go out and wipe every fucking vampire off the earth. But he loved her. How’d she ever find a man who had the ability to see the good in a few rare vampires? Those few vampires who hated what they’d become.

  She stared at her boots. Was there a place in society for some of them? Did they have a purpose?

  Damnation. She’d lost her mind. Vampires were the scum of the earth.

  She needed sustenance again, and she couldn’t put it off too long, or Britt would start to look like dinner. Yeah, she was rare, all right. She bit her bottom lip and tasted blood.

  She deserved his undying love and attention. She was such a peach. And, she was really feeling sorry for herself tonight.

  She made for the fridge and grabbed a packet of blood.

  “What about Sampson? Are you going to have him check Regent over to see if whatever they’ve done to him has any side effects?” Britt asked.

  “No. I don’t think a forensic vampirologist would be able to do much for a human, do you?”

  “Don’t sell Sampson short. He’d be able to check Regent’s blood, maybe even his DNA to see if he can figure out what has changed.”

  “He wasn’t able to find the source of your new abilities,” Jess said.

  Britt nodded. “True, but he tried every test known to man. He’s the best, Jess, and you know it.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I know.” She and Sampson had become good friends, as well as employer slash employee. She knew he would do whatever she asked.

  Maybe she was afraid to find out what had been physically done to Regent—in case it was bad news. “I suppose you’re right. But we can’t do anything until Regent gives us the all clear to go back to the rectory.”

  With that, Jess yanked out her cell phone and made a quick call to Sampson. The man was a wizard with biochemistry. He’d been the first individual to identify vampire VNA, and he had a talent for translating ancient vampire scrolls. He and Jess had spent hours figuring out what the words in the scrolls meant. Some of them could stun a vampire, whereas most were unknown. Still, Sampson was slowly cracking the ancient language.

  “Dr. Case speaking,” Sampson said.

  “Hi, Sampson. What’s with the serious phone-answering technique?”

  “I’m expecting a call from a colleague. I wanted to impress her.”

  “Her?” Jess dragged the pronoun out as long as she could.

  “Just a colleague, Jess. Would you have felt better if I’d said, ‘Sampson here—you stab ’em, we slab ’em’?”

  Jess burst into rusty-sounding laughter. “You know, that’d be a really good motto for our secret little Black Ops team. Oh wait, it’s secret, so we don’t need a motto.”

  “Droll, Jess.”

  “That’s me. Droll Jess.” She grinned into the phone. Sampson had effectively pulled her out of her self-induced doldrums.

  “Regent’s home,” she said, instantly serious again.

  “Oh good, I was worried about him.”

  “With good reason,” she said, proceeding to fill him in on Regent’s current condition.

  Sampson whistled between his teeth, then went silent on the other end for a few seconds. She could just imagine his scientific brain straining to figure it all out.

  “I have to see this for myself,” he said, finally. “I’ll be right over.”

  Jess glanced at Britt who’d been listening in on speakerphone.

  “Don’t go to the rectory for the time being. You won’t be allowed in,” Britt said.

  Regent and Sampson were friends. They’d often get together for the occasional game of chess.

  “Sounds like he’s got major trouble over there. What’s going on?”

  “We’re not quite sure. Regent wouldn’t tell us,” Jess said. “But he made me promise to stay away until he gives us the go-ahead to return.”

  Sampson’s tongue clicked, as it did when he didn’t agree with something being said. She didn’t blame him.

  “Will you keep me posted, Jess?”

  “You know I will. See you later,” she said and hung up.

  Britt checked his watch. “As of tomorrow, I’m taking some vacation time. The Chief has been after me to take leave before too much builds up, anyway. Malcolm Fisk is going to be my priority for the next couple of weeks,” he said. “And I have the feeling my investigation won’t meld well with my position as Lieutenant of the NYPD Black Ops team. I intend to do whatever I can to get information, whether it’s legal or not.”

  Jess cringed. It seemed both of the men she loved were in trouble. She felt torn between her loyalty to each of them. Then again, Regent had barred her from the rectory, so… . “I’m taking leave, too,” she said. “You’re not doing this alone.”

  The Chief wouldn’t like them both being on leave at the same time, but too bad. This was much more important than keeping the streets clean of the odd vampire. Besides, her team could work without her and Britt for a few days. She’d trained them well.

  Britt wouldn’t want her involved if Fisk had the same abilities he had. The man could be very dangerous to her. But that didn’t mean she was running scared. “Don’t forget who the kick-ass vampire is in this room, Britt,” she added, in case he was inclined to argue.

  “Believe me, that’s not something I’m likely to forget.” He eyed her up and down seductively.

  She squirmed, just a little. He always knew how to decelerate her anger. It was one of his many talents. And, at the moment, she’d rather expend her energies in bed exploring that talent.

  Even though the look he gave her was a tease, she knew he’d never really make love to her again until he believed he couldn’t hurt her. But she believed in him. That was saying something for a black-hearted vampire. She had real faith in this man, who stood head and shoulders over her. Under his leather jacket, a bluish-green T-shirt showed off his hazel eyes. Not that he was into showing o
ff… . He simply liked comfy clothes while off duty. His jeans were faded, and he usually wore steel-toed boots. They came in handy in a good fight, as did her high-heeled leather boots with a spike in the toe.

  Unlike Britt, most of her vampire hunting team was made up of humans taken from prisons and given a second chance—rehabilitation by fire. They were a tough team and they fought hard, but it was inevitable that she lost a percentage of them every year to vampires. They knew the risks and chose fighting to death row. Britt fought because he wanted to. It was his choice. That, among many other things, made him special.

  Until now, she’d never wondered why Britt had been chosen in a different way than the rest. She’d always assumed it had been a favor to him, to give him a reason to get out of bed every day, after being kicked off the force. He’d been accused of killing his partner … only, he hadn’t done it. His partner and Britt’s ex-wife had been vampires, so he’d been let go, and his case quietly shoved under the carpet. But that was then and this was now. And she was very glad to have him by her side.

  His eyebrows arched when she took the lead and snatched her car keys from the hook near the door.

  “Jess, my love. Maybe you should sit this one out.”

  The muscles in her back turned to tensile reinforced tissue. She didn’t speak, but gathered her inner strength in order to force back the evil demon clawing to erupt and ream him out. Anger spiked her vampirism like nothing else. She didn’t want Britt to see that part of her—not tonight.

  “I certainly hope you’re joking,” she said finally, turning to him and smiling her sweetest smile, which was probably as cold as her soul.

  He seemed to be searching for the right thing to say. He might as well give up—he wouldn’t win with her tonight. Or any other night, for that matter.

  Finally, his shoulders sagged. “Let’s go,” he said. It sounded like those words came out through teeth glued together. Now, that really made her smile. She loved this man to death. Or should that be, to death and back?

  That analogy instantly took a chunk out of her heart. She mustn’t forget who she was. Or whether he deserved to have someone like her in his life.

  Chapter Five

  MALCOLM FISK lowered his head and held out his hands in a dramatic evangelical pose over one of the ancient vampires, while the other two looked on. He had no delusions. Managing to affect vampires that were centuries old would be very difficult. Good thing his abilities were stronger since he’d found the blade. It had been an antiquity he’d bought dirt cheap. He still remembered how he’d felt when he’d spotted the markings on the dull metal in an Iranian marketplace, years ago. He’d felt its power from ten feet away. And when he touched it, his whole existence came into perspective. The blade made him feel invincible. Power had instantly bled into him, and he knew, with the blade, he’d achieve whatever he wanted.

  He intended to become very rich by making it known to the elite of the vampires that he was the only man who could release them from the night.

  Now, he just had to put his talents to the test.

  The blue illumination of power built from his solar plexus, then erupted from his chest and hovered in front of him, gaining in intensity. When it released the vibration, he pressed the pulsing light with his mind, and floated it out to the first, and possibly the oldest, vampire.

  The sphere hung in the air, almost hesitant, before it pushed into the vampire’s chest, making him cry out in shock. Then his eyes shot open, and his irises expanded while his teeth grew instantly.

  Fisk’s insides quaked at the sight of this terrifying vampire roaring in pain in front of him. Had he actually grown larger in response to the pain?

  Focus… . It didn’t help that he’d never seen fangs on an olde one. The length and ferocity of those teeth reminded him of a monstrous saber-toothed tiger’s. The vampire’s whole exterior changed, from his clawed hands to his nearly mummified facial features. It was horrifying.

  Crap. He’d be unable to maintain his focus if he kept looking at the vampire’s gruesome features, so he slowed his breathing, and calmed his autonomic responses. His gut reaction slid away, and he pictured the blue light entering the vamp’s heart, making it pump for the first time in centuries. Next, he imagined fresh blood circulating through the vampire’s venous system. All the while, it felt as if a rope had been attached to his own organs, threatening to rip them out of his chest.

  He lowered his head penitently and recited pertinent words under his breath while beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

  It was like trying to row against the current. Every time he pushed his energy a little further into the vampire, a force shoved back, rejecting his light. The vampire’s innermost evil self didn’t want to let its barrier down.

  Fisk’s gut tightened. For a second, he thought the evil might gain control and enter him instead, but he pushed with all he had and managed to force the blue orb deeper into the vampire’s body, until it burst apart and outward to all of the vampire’s extremities.

  The vampire dropped and writhed on the floor, groaning in pain.

  His organs had been dead for hundreds of years, so bringing sensations back meant excruciating pain would be inevitable.

  Maybe Fisk should have warned the vampires in his boardroom that pain would likely be part and parcel of the process. After all, it affirmed regeneration and life. Only, he couldn’t have warned them—he hadn’t known.

  This was a first for Fisk, too. Olde vampires reacted differently than the younger North American vampires.

  He’d never experienced anything this awesome and terrifying.

  When the vampire’s flesh started steaming, Fisk nearly crumpled, too. He’d never seen a reawakening and he almost broke contact.

  Crap. Crap. Crap. He gave another mental shove, harder this time. It felt as if his own essence was being yanked out of his body through every pore and was soaking into the driest sponge on the planet.

  God, his fucking eyeballs had to be bleeding. Invisible fire sticks drove into him, burning, cutting into his brain. Until this moment, his energy reserves had known no limit. He could fake-heal a dozen vampires in half an hour without being fazed. He’d figured that healing an ancient wouldn’t be so easy, but this was close to unbearable.

  No way could he work on more than one ancient tonight. He wouldn’t survive it.

  But he had no choice. He had to at least partially heal this one vampire, or they might see his distress as a sign of weakness. Damn.

  He broke focus long enough to glance at the other two. They looked as if they were on the brink of gutting him with their vicious black fingernails, after they had sucked him dry with their Cro-Magnon vampire teeth. Fisk knew that if his current client didn’t make it, he’d be in trouble.

  The way things were going, he’d be lucky if he could get one olde vampire to the point where he could see even the tiniest of changes in his physiology.

  Suddenly, ten million dollars seemed like pocket change. He deserved much more money for something this difficult. And he needed more time. A lot more time.

  While tension built palpably in the room, he tried to maintain focus on healing the olde one. So far, there’d been no superficial changes, other than his continuing physical discomfort.

  In a final bid to achieve a modicum of success, Fisk drew energy from his core, creating an internal fusion of light. It hurt like lava, but he held up a hand and thrust as hard as he could into the vampire on the floor.

  Fisk kicked himself for not doing his homework. He should have figured out how hard this would be. He’d been too cocky. And he was going to pay for it.

  Suddenly, the vampire calmed, the gray color of his skin fading.

  Fisk could have cried with relief. He’d done it. At least, he’d managed the first step.

  The vampire got off the floor looking in amazement at his hands.

  “This is a several-step procedure,” Fisk said in a ‘you-should-already-be-aware-of-this’
tone. “That’s all for today.”

  “I’m next.” Another vampire stepped forward.

  Fisk reached into his pocket and pressed his beeper. Thank God he had a contingency plan in place.

  The partially healed vampire looked down at his slightly younger body. “Unbelievable!” he said. “You really can do it.”

  The other two didn’t appear as volatile now, but Fisk feared they’d expect him to do the same for them—tonight.

  They’d be pissed if they knew how ineffectual the session had really been. He should have been able to get fully under the subcutaneous tissue. He should’ve been able to change internal organs from dried-out husks to operating systems, even if for a time.

  Where the hell was Brewster?

  Finally, his aide knocked and opened the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt such an important session, Leader,” he said, “but you’ve been called. It’s very crucial.”

  Fisk had often used this method to get out of unsavory obligations, but the system had never saved his life before.

  It had tonight.

  Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He felt drained, but he forced his exterior to appear strong, so as not to tip off the vampires to his weakened state. “Gentlemen, it looks like we’ll have to call it a night. Please make private appointments with Brewster. We’ll continue as soon as possible. I imagine it will take about ten sessions for each of you.” He hoped that’d be all. But he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

  Strained at forcing himself not to buckle in front of them, he dashed for the door before his legs gave out on him.

  “Brewster, this time make individual appointments for my esteemed guests. They’re too important for group sessions,” he said, making it sound like Brewster had fucked up the booking.

  They seemed appeased to be getting personal sessions, and actually lined up in front of his aide to arrange appointments. Thank God!