Blood for Breakfast (Sydney Newbern Book 1) Page 5

  He hung up, slipped his phone back into his pocket, and fought Asgard for a few more moments before he thrust his weapon into his chest. I watched Asgard’s body explode into ashes—along with the cure for my cancer. Gideon knelt beside Asgard’s remains and slid his hand into his coat pocket, pulling out a vial as the door behind me opened. Music flooded the room. My gaze turned to the guy standing in the doorway. He was a vampire, no doubt.

  “You gotta get out of here,” he urged Gideon. “Bill’s just killed a vampire and his girlfriend, a Donor, and now he’s waiting to hear from Asgard. He’s starting to get suspicious. Kate can’t stall anymore.” He glanced over at me. “Who’s this?”

  Gideon, who was now on his feet and no longer holding a vial, ignored the question. “Change of plan. Tell Kate to compel the blue-haired waitress and bartenders so that they’ll forget I was ever here. Also, I want Mike and Bill dead and this room cleaned.”

  “Consider it done,” the guy said. The door closed, and he was gone, the music too.

  “This place will be crawling with vampire cops soon,” he told me. “If you stay here with blood all over your dress, they’ll assume you helped kill their Ruler. You’ll think that too since your memory of me will be erased. You won’t leave here alive. But your second option is to come with me, and I’ll get you out of here—alive.”

  I considered my situation. Vampires shared a common desire: human blood. My blood. So, no, I did not trust him, not by a long shot. My initial impulse was to refuse, but he had a point. At the moment, he was my best option.

  “Okay, I’m coming with you,” I said. “Get me out of here.”

  “Wise choice.” He opened the door. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He was out of the room before I could utter a word and returned a few seconds later, a pack of wet wipes in his hand. “Clean the blood off your face and neck. Hurry up.”

  After I did as he’d instructed, he took off his coat, revealing a tight black shirt, broad shoulders, and a narrow waist.

  “Put it on over your dress.”

  I enveloped myself in his coat, a blended scent of leather and musk emanating from the collar. I looked down at my feet. “Wait, my heels.”

  He glanced over at them, his face twisting at the sight of the ugly neon-green shoes. “Leave them.”

  “Leave them?” I would be barefoot.

  “Yes. Trust me, you should be thanking me for this. Now, stay close to me.” He took my hand and drew me to him. “Act as my Donor.”

  Right. Like I knew what Donors were supposed to act like. His other hand landed on the door handle when I stopped him. “Doesn’t Asgard have security cameras outside his room?”

  “No. Down here, there is only one camera, a hidden camera, and it’s in the room where the blood bags are stored. Upstairs, though, there are cameras, so keep your head down when we reach there,” he replied, and we were out of the room. Passing through vampires and Donors, we walked to the other side of the cave where the entrance was. A woman with a blonde wavy bob haircut waited for him.

  “Kate.” He nodded at her. She touched the wall, and a portion of the rock disappeared, creating a gap leading to the narrow tunnel with scented candles. Gideon, Kate, and I stepped through, and the cave closed behind us.

  “My men took care of the security team upstairs. The humans will be compelled; none of them will remember you.” She glanced at me. Curiosity flicked across her face, but she didn’t ask questions. “Rick is cleaning the room as we speak. The compulsion and getting rid of the evidence wasn’t part of our original deal. As you know, my men and I are not cheap, so I’m afraid it’s gonna cost you ext—”

  “Just send the bill when you’re done here,” he said.

  The corners of her lips turned up in a smile. “Pleasure doing business with you, handsome. As always.” She winked at him, and we continued down the tunnel without her, then climbed upstairs. There, we waded through the crowd, and when we were outside the club, he swept me up in his arms.

  “Hey! What are you doing? Put me down!” I demanded, which he ignored.

  In a blink—literally—he’d crossed two blocks, and in the next blink, I was straddling a black motorcycle.

  “What the hell?” I raised my voice, feeling the cold air at my legs and feet.

  “What was that? Thank you for being a gentleman and not letting me walk barefoot on a dirty street? You’re welcome,” he said with a sarcastic smile, then hopped on and sat in front of me. “Hold tight,” he ordered.

  “I’m not holding tight to anything because I am not going anywhere with you.”

  I was about to get off his bike when he revved the engine and drove off. The wind bit deep into my flesh, threatening to freeze me to death as he sped off like a maniac. Muttering about his bad driving skills, I held on to his midsection as his body quaked with laughter. At an alarming speed, his bike weaved back and forth, threading between the moving cars. A police siren began screaming after us, but his motorcycle picked up even more speed, and we whooshed down the road as he maneuvered the bike with ease. After blowing through a few red lights, we exited the urban area and lost the police car.

  There was a short moment of silence before I heard him say, “Hold on tighter!” and then he tipped the bike to its side. My bare leg almost grazed the asphalt as we made our way around a sharp curve. I held on for dear life. Forget creepy prison cells and fatal diseases and vampire clubs. This was going to kill me. Then we were flying down a long road lined with green trees. Although he still drove like a lunatic, the rest of the ride was less frightening. When we turned down a street in what looked like a low-income neighborhood, he slowed and pulled into the driveway of a two-story house, then killed the engine. The next thing I knew, he was standing and swinging me up over one shoulder.

  Alarm flared inside me. I pummeled his back with my fists, wriggling my hips down along his chest. Apparently all the freaky martial arts skills in the world did no good when you’re flung over a muscular shoulder like a sack of flour. “What do you think you’re doing? Put me down! Now!”

  Paying no attention to my shouting as he absorbed my blows like I hadn’t even hit him, he moved to the front door of that house, unlocked it, stepped inside, and flipped the light on. Hung upside-down along his back, I saw a foyer containing a set of stairs that led to a second floor. The entryway was simple and empty with no rug, table, or any other accessories. Passing the stairs, he opened a set of battered and warped French doors, stepping inside a large living room with white paint peeling from the walls. Like the foyer, it had limited furniture and decor: a black couch against a wall, a glass coffee table, and three white chairs. No TV, pictures, or flowers filled the room.

  He strode to the couch and the second he put me down, I sucker punched him in his face, kicked his side, flipped around, and scuttled toward the French doors. I was halfway to them when he caught me on the back of my shin, just above the ankle. I lost my balance and toppled over onto the hardwood floor, hitting it hard face-first. Son of a bitch! That hurt!

  Suddenly, on top of me from behind, he pinned me down, saying calmly, “Settle down. I mean you no harm. Your name is Sydney, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Okay, Sydney, I just want to talk to you.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe that because …? You brought me here against my will, and I happen,”—I tried to draw in air, his body crushing me—“to be, you know, your food source.”

  His weight lifted off my chest, and he let me turn over. I faced him, breathing easier. Still on top of me, he propped himself up on his elbows. I exploited our new position and kneed him in the groin. His eyes squeezed shut as he moaned loudly and rolled to his back. I lurched to my feet and ran for the French doors for the second time. A string of curses directed to someone named Amelia flew out of his mouth. Amelia? Who was Amelia?

  When I started to open the door, a blade whizzed past my ear—so near I felt the wind—and the tip of the knife thumped into the wood of t
he door, closing it shut with a bang, glass panels shuddering. I slapped a flat palm on the door and yanked the knife out with my other hand, then turned around. One second he was lying on the floor where I’d left him, the next, he was in front of me. Damn him and his preternatural speed!

  I held up the knife. “Don’t come any closer, or I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”

  “I know you believe you can do that. You’re good. The way you handled Asgard’s guards, who were highly trained Adult fighters, was impressive. And surprising. Your fighting skills are excellent, no argument about that, but Sydney,”—a small cocky smile bowed his lips—“I am not Asgard’s guards. You’ll be needing much more than a knife to take me out.”

  “We’ll see about that.” I peeled off his coat and dropped it to the floor, then swung at him. Or tried.

  Every smack, every punch, every kick I delivered hit the air. The real damage I managed to do was to his pants. He glanced down, his fingers examining the cut in the fabric, and then his gaze returned to me. The mocking look on his face said, “That’s the best you can do?”

  Frustrated, I leaped at him. The knife in my hand poised to slash him, my fist ready to fire into him, but yet again, at the last moment he shifted his balance, and I wound up assaulting the air. I flipped over and tried to stab him once more. He caught the hand that held the knife, twisted my wrist, and forced me to let go. The weapon fell to the ground. He stepped on it and sent the knife skidding across the room, out of reach. Not giving up, I continued to fight him, using my new knowledge of martial arts. He wasn’t hitting me back, though.

  After a few minutes, it was clear he was waiting for me to become exhausted and admit defeat. I didn’t. So he finally went from avoiding my blows to actually fighting back. And when that happened, I realized he hadn’t been kidding earlier: he was not one of Asgard’s bodyguards. It’d been less challenging to kick six big vampires’ asses at the same time than the one before me. Gideon’s strength was immense. At some point, his powerful kick tossed me across the room, smashing my body against a wall. Doubled over, I coughed. Everything hurt.

  “Are you ready to talk now?” he asked, already in front of me.

  As an answer, I gathered the little strength left in me and whipped my leg out, but he swiftly reared back and grabbed my ankle. Holding it, he pulled me forward, and I fell on my ass, shrieking. I got back on my feet, but before I could do anything, his hand shot out to my neck, cupping it and slamming my back against the wall. The force of the impact pressed all the air from my lungs. I saw stars.

  His hand pinned my neck to the wall. “Have you had enough?” he snapped. I felt the restraint in his body; he was being careful with me. If he wanted, he could snap my neck like a twig. Yet I wasn’t scared for my life anymore. He’d had many opportunities to kill me, including now; however, he hadn’t. Then again, I’d thought the same thing about Daryl and Tess, and it turned out they were just using me. Still, a layer of tension peeled away from me. He wasn’t going to kill me right now, at least. I let myself look up at him for a moment, or two.

  The blue-haired waitress had been right. He really was gorgeous.

  His face was chiseled with high, sharp cheekbones, a firm jaw, strong brow, and milky-white skin, smooth and perfect. His straight ear-length hair was thick and pitch black, setting off two ice-blue eyes framed with black lashes.

  “Good,” he said, taking my silence as an affirmative answer and releasing me.

  “I haven’t had blood over the last twenty-four hours, and the smell of the bleeding cut from your leg doesn’t particularly help.”

  “If I’m not your dinner, why did you bring me to your house?”

  “Two years I’ve been waiting for you, so you can be damn sure I wasn’t gonna leave The Dark Night without you,” he answered and started toward the kitchen set on the left side of the living room, leaving me gaping after him in shock.

  Chapter 5

  Barefoot, dirty, and in a bloodied dress, I sat on Gideon’s couch. Across from me, Gideon sank into a chair, holding a glass full of blood. He’d set a glass of water on the coffee table for me. I eyed it suspiciously. I was thirsty, sure, but after everything that had happened to me over the past three weeks, like hell was I drinking anything a total stranger set in front of me.

  “Waiting for me for two years? What did you mean by that?” I asked.

  “Two years ago, Amelia contacted me, offering a solution to a problem she knew I had. Sh—”

  “Amelia?” I remembered the name. He’d cursed her when I ran toward the French doors. He sipped from his glass. “A powerful witch, well known in our world. She shared a vision with me. In it, she saw that in an unknown future, I’d come across a girl with a number, black magic, on her left palm. Though she couldn’t tell me when or where the encounter would take place.”

  “Did she mention that the tattoo would glow?”

  “She said nothing about glowing black magic. She did, however, emphasize the importance of taking you with me.”

  I was even more puzzled than I’d been at the beginning of this conversation. “Why?”

  “Because you’re the solution. Your blood has powerful black magic in it, and I’ll need to drink it in the future.”

  My hand shot to my neck, and I shrank back. “Hell no!”

  He brought the glass to his mouth, finished his drink in one gulp, and set it down on the coffee table. He leaned back in his chair while linking his hands together across his stomach, extending his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. “Let’s talk business, shall we? You have no money or a place to go to, according to Amelia, and now,”—he smelled the air—“I also know you are gravely ill. Cancer. The smell is not strong, but it will be. It must be more than fifteen hours since you last took BFB. Soon the Ancient’s blood won’t be able to mask the rotten smell of cancer at all. I bet you don’t have more pills on you, or an Ancient vamp willing to contribute his blood for you.

  “To me, Sydney, it seems your days on earth are pretty … well, numbered. But they don’t have to be. You don’t have to die. Here’s what I’m offering: in about two weeks, maybe three, I’ll cure you—permanently. Until you’re healed, you can live here and have anything you need: BFB pills, human food, clothes, money for personal spending, et cetera. In exchange, after I kill Djar, a US Ruler, all you gotta do is give me a half-pint of your blood. Nothing more. Just that. If you think about it, this deal is actually more of a favor for you I’m doing here.”

  My eyebrows lifted higher. “Wait a second. Cure me for good? How? I’ve been told only Ancient vampire blood can heal permanently, given the human drinks from his or her vein.”

  “Which is correct.”

  “I don’t understand. Asgard said you were one hundred and sixty-five years old. Was he wrong? Are you an Ancient? How old are you, really? When did your Change occur?”

  “When I was twenty-five, and in vampire years, I’m one hundred and sixty-five years old,” he replied. “Asgard wasn’t wrong; I’m an Adult vampire. However, I have different abilities from them—better abilities—like permanently healing humans from terminal diseases and severe injuries.”

  Yeah, right. How convenient. It sounded like some grade-A bullshit. “And what will assure me that you’re not bullshitting me right now, that you’re really not the same as other Adult vamps?”

  His icy-blue eyes penetrated mine, his voice taking on a husky undertone. “Strip off your clothes, straddle my lap, and kiss me, then look at my eyes. This, I believe, will provide you with sufficient proof that I’m not lying to you.”

  His stunning features morphed into a smirk and, for a moment, I forgot the person sitting in front of me was not human.

  Ignoring the heat spreading over my cheeks, I asked, “And how will that prove you’re not lying?”

  His head tilted to the side, as if he’d just realized something. “You don’t have much knowledge about my kind, do you?”

  “How would I? I didn’t know about th
e existence of the supernatural world until last night.”

  “I see,” he said and explained, “Vampires’ eyes are affected by strong emotions, like arousal. An Adult’s eyes will turn silver, whereas Ancients’ will turn gold. Mine become gold as well.”

  My gaze dropped to his lips. “Why not show me your fangs for proof? I suppose they’re in the same size range as Ancient vampires’ teeth too, right?”

  He rested an elbow on the chair’s arm. “Wrong. They’re like the Adults’ fangs.”

  The room grew silent. He was waiting. Would I take him up on his suggestion and check whether the bright blue turns to gold when aroused? Of course I wouldn’t.

  There was another way for me to tell if he was lying. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than nothing.

  “Okay. I believe you. I don’t need to check your eyes.”

  I inspected his reaction. Slight disappointment—not relief—appeared on his face, which meant that he might be telling the truth. Though, I was still skeptical.

  “Why do you need to drink blood that contains black magic? And why are you killing the Rulers?” I asked, curious.

  “I have my reasons,” he said in a clipped tone, ignoring my first question.

  “How come you’re not like the other Adult vamps? What kind of vampire are you?”

  “The kind who needs sleep when the sun is up, which will happen soon, so let’s return to the deal. Do we have one?” The tone of his voice made it clear that he wouldn’t elaborate about himself more than he already had. Fine. Whatever his story was, it didn’t matter. To have a supply of BFB and a place to stay for a while, on the other hand, did.

  If I accepted his deal, it’d solve half my problem. And there was the possibility he was not lying about his blood.

  “Yes, we have a deal,” I agreed, then said, “But why do we have to wait two weeks before you heal me?”

  He nodded to my tattoo. “It’s pure black magic. Very strong. And rare. Therefore, destroying your cancer will entail strengthening my healing ability. For that, I’ll have to go on a detox diet for two weeks, maybe three. I’ll be drinking blood bags of healthy humans with no high cholesterol and triglycerides. In other words, dull blood without flavor.”