Part 3 (1/2)

No, Anna. You won't want to feed from anyone here. Trust me.

I don't. It doesn't make sense. You'd better explain. I'm not picking up any mental vibes. No shape-s.h.i.+fters. No vamps, either, that I can detect. I stop and reconsider, ”tasting” the air like a dog sniffs for a scent. Something is coming through that I hadn't picked up on earlier. Okay. There is one vamp. In the back. She's feeding. Why can't I?

Culebra has a face that Sergio Leone would have cast as a villain in one of his spaghetti westerns. Craggy, world-weary, expressive.

Right now, the expression is embarra.s.sment-a strange emotion coming from one who has been nothing but a good friend to me.

What could possibly be causing this kind of reaction?

Unless he's trying to protect me from something-or someone.

Who's in the back?

No answer. But I know I've hit on something. He's exerting such great effort to s.h.i.+eld that information from me mentally that he doesn't detect the physical movement behind him.

A vamp walks into the room, a tall, willowy redhead with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and green eyes s.h.i.+ning with contentment. She acknowledges me, a fellow vamp, with a subtle nod of her head. She doesn't s.h.i.+eld her thoughts.

Why should she? She detects no threat. She's fed and she's had s.e.x. She's content. She's holding the arm of the donor whose expression mirrors her own. He's a big man, walking with a slight limp. When he looks up and sees me, his eyes flicker, his face goes blank.

For an instant.

Then he smiles. A cold, impersonal smile.

”h.e.l.lo, Anna.”

The vamp looks from one of us to the other, a spark of interest quirks one perfectly shaped eyebrow. You two know each other?

Oh, yes. It takes a minute for me to recover from the shock. Another to acknowledge her question with a nod. Oh, yes, we know each other.

”h.e.l.lo, Max.”

CHAPTER 6.

MY VOICE ECHOES IN MY HEAD, COLD, SHARP AS the crack of ice on a frozen pond.

Max and I stare at each other.

”This is getting to be a bad habit.” The bitterness in his voice is as obvious as the vamp on his arm.

I don't respond. I don't need to. I know exactly what he means. This isn't the first time we've run into each other unexpectedly here in Beso de la Muerte. He's a DEA agent, or at least he was the last time I saw him. He and Culebra have worked together.

Neither has ever explained how or why, and I haven't pushed.

Tonight, though, is different. These circ.u.mstances are different.

I'm struck dumb by what I see in front of me. I can't take my eyes off the man who, until a few months ago, was my boyfriend and lover. Max and I have had an on-and-off relations.h.i.+p for the last few years. The off times have always been my fault; I accept that.

When he walked out of my life for good, he did it because he found out what I was. He saw me turn. He saw me kill. The circ.u.mstances warranted it. Still, I a.s.sumed he couldn't come to terms with a girlfriend who needed to suck more than the obvious every few weeks.

To find him here, and know that he and this vampire shared what he didn't want to share with me, provokes hurt and confusion. I don't deal well with those emotions. When I was human, I tended to wield them like a double-edged sword against whoever had the bad fortune to injure me. That hasn't changed. Instead of beating my breast and asking him why, I revert to the familiar. I attack.”Well, well. This is interesting. You decide getting f.u.c.ked by a strange vampire is better than getting f.u.c.ked by one you know?”

The vamp with Max takes a step back. Whoa, she says. I didn't know he belonged to someone. He showed up and offered himself.

At the same time she's conveying that message to me telepathically, Max is throwing me a puzzled frown. ”How did you know we had s.e.x?”

I feel my face split into a sour smile. ”I smell it on you. Was it good, Max? It must have been to overcome your sensibilities about s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g a vampire. Which is why I a.s.sumed you left me.”

His expression hardens, confusion into anger. ”Don't lay that on me, Anna. You hid what you were from me for months. You would never have told me at all if I hadn't been there to see it.”

He's right. Hiding what I've become from the mortals I want to stay close to has been the hardest adjustment to this vampiric experience. ”I was right to hide it, wasn't I? You walked out on me. Didn't bother to say good-bye, and yet here you are. When did you decide to become a donor? Was it when you realized how great the s.e.x is? Not so easy to get off with mere mortals when you've experienced the ultimate, is it?”

”You should know.” There is a resentful edge to his voice. ”You hadn't gotten off with me until that last time. It's what made it so great, wasn't it? You fed from me. It was the only time I'd satisfied you since you turned into . . .” His voice breaks off. ”This.”

He reaches behind him and grabs the arm of the vamp. She is not expecting it, caught up in the exchange between Max and me.

She recovers in an instant. She puts her head down, snarls and bites down on his hand hard enough to draw blood.

I don't come to his defense. I would have reacted the same way to being manhandled.

He s.n.a.t.c.hes his hand away and looks down at the ragged wound. ”This is what you are, Anna. An animal. I come here to remind myself why I can't love you anymore.”

Culebra interposes himself between us. ”Take this outside,” he says. ”You're making the natives restless.”

For the first time, I'm aware that, except for the pulse of the music, it has grown quiet in the bar. A half dozen women have separated from the others and are creeping toward us. They seem to be sniffing the air, mouths open, eyes narrowed.

I raise a questioning eyebrow to Culebra.

It's the blood. Take Max outside and heal the wound. Quickly.

But the redhead steps forward. He's with me. I'll do it. She looks up at Max and says quietly. ”You need to come with me. Now.

You've made the pack nervous.”

He has his eyes on me, but he follows her outside without arguing. He's seen what a vampire can do when provoked. When the doors swing closed behind them, the six who were creeping up on us turn as one toward someone behind them. Though I don't detect movement of any kind, they must get some kind of signal. They slink back to their places at the bar.

I skewer Culebra with a look. The pack? What are they?

He doesn't answer right away. He's watching the crowd at the bar, waiting for the tension to drain from the room. When the decibel level rises to its former ear-splitting pitch, anxiety still clouds his eyes, and I can tell he's far from relieved.

Culebra, I ask again. What are they?

His eyes flick back to me. Werewolves.

Werewolves? I repeat stupidly. I look around. There are at least forty of the creatures in the bar. A shudder of revulsion runs down my spine. The fact that they look and act human is not a comfort. I look and act human, too. Most of the time. All of them?