First Drop of Crimson

“…but I happen to be in the States,” Spade went on. “In fact, I’m in St. Louis. I could be there later today, have a look at your cousin’s body.”

Denise sucked in her breath, torn between wanting to find out what had killed Paul in the quickest way possible, and feeling edgy about it being Spade doing the investigating. Then she berated herself. The deaths of Paul, Amber, and her aunt meant more than her being uncomfortable about who was helping her.

“I’d appreciate that. My address is—”

“I remember where you live,” Spade cut her off. “Expect me ’round noon.”

She looked at her watch. Just over six hours. She couldn’t get from St. Louis to Fort Worth that fast if her life depended on it, but if Spade said he’d be there around noon, she believed him.

“Thanks. Can you tell Cat, um, that…”

“Perhaps it’s best if we don’t involve Cat or Crispin just yet,” Spade said, calling Bones by his human name as he always did. “They’ve had an awful time of it recently. No need to fret them if it’s something I can handle.”

Denise bit back her scoff. She knew what that translated to. Or if she’d just imagined all this.

“I’ll see you at noon,” she replied, and hung up.

The house seemed eerily quiet. Denise glanced out the windows with a shiver, telling herself the foreboding she felt was a normal reaction to her violent night. Just to be sure, however, she went through each room checking the windows and doors. All locked. Then she forced herself to shower, trying to block the images of Paul’s blue-tinged face from her mind. It didn’t work. Denise put on a robe and began restlessly prowling through her home once more.

If only she hadn’t agreed to go out drinking with Paul, he might still be alive now. Or what if she’d immediately run into the bar for help, instead of staying in the parking lot? Could she have saved Paul, if she’d come out with a bunch of people to scare the attacker off? He’d left as soon as people responded to her screams; maybe she could have saved Paul, if she hadn’t stood there uselessly macing his killer.

Denise was so caught up in her thoughts that she ignored the tapping sounds until they happened a third time. Then she froze. They were coming from her front door.

She left the kitchen and ran quietly up to her bedroom, pulling a Glock out of her nightstand. It was filled with silver bullets, which might only slow down a vampire, but would kill anything human. Denise walked down the stairs, straining her ears for each sound. Yes, still there. Such an odd noise, like whimpering and scratching.

What if it was someone trying to pick the lock? Should she call the police, or try to see what it was first? If it was just a raccoon nosing around and she called the cops, they’d really discount anything she said in the future.

Denise kept the gun pointed toward the sounds as she edged around to the front windows. If she angled her body just so, she could see her front door…

“What?” Denise gasped out loud.

On her porch was a little girl, something red on her outfit. She was tapping on the door in a way that looked hurt or exhausted or both. Now Denise could make out the word help coming from her.

Denise set down the gun and yanked open the door. The little girl’s face was streaked with tears and her whole frame trembled.

“Can I come in? Daddy’s hurt,” the child lisped.

She picked her up, looking around for a car or any other indicator of how the little girl had gotten here.

“Come in, sweetie. What happened? Where’s your daddy?” Denise crooned as she took the child inside.

The little girl smiled. “Daddy’s dead,” she said, her voice changing to something low and deep.

Denise’s arms fell at the instant deluge of weight, horror filling her as she saw the little girl morph into the same man who’d murdered Paul. He grabbed her when she tried to run, shutting the door behind him.

“Thanks for inviting me in,” he said, his hand clapping over Denise’s mouth just in time to cut off her scream.

Chapter Two

Spade closed his mobile phone, mulling the conversation he’d just had. Denise MacGregor. He certainly hadn’t expected to hear from her again. Now she fancied her cousin had been murdered by some sort of weredog—except weredogs or were-anything didn’t exist.

There could be another explanation. Denise said she’d maced the attacker with pepper spray and silver. She could have missed him, true, but then again, perhaps she hadn’t. If a vampire murdered her cousin, he could have tranced Denise into thinking she’d seen him transform into a dog—and that he hadn’t been affected by the liquid silver spray. Humans’ memories were so easy to alter. But if Denise had witnessed a vampire attack, the murderer would wonder how she’d known to use silver. He might decide to use more than glamour to make sure Denise didn’t retell the tale. That was a risk Spade wasn’t willing to take.

He cast a look at his bed with regret. Thought he’d long ago mastered the crippling lethargy that came with sunrise, that didn’t mean he relished driving to Texas now. Ah, well. It was the least he could do to ensure Crispin and Cat didn’t rush back from New Zealand for what was, in all likelihood, just the emotional breakdown of a human who’d snapped from too much grief and stress.

He remembered the look Denise gave him the last time he’d seen her. Specks of blood dotted her clothes, her face had been as pale as Spade’s own ivory skin, and her hazel eyes held a mixture of revulsion and fear.

Why did you have to kill him? she’d whispered.

Because of what he intended to do, Spade had replied. No one deserves to live after that.

She hadn’t understood. Spade did, though. All too well. Humans might be more forgiving with their punishments, but Spade knew better than to show a rapist, even a potential one, any naïve mercy.

He also remembered the last thing Denise said when he’d dropped her off at her house later that night. I’m so sick of the violence in your world. He’d seen that look on many humans’ faces, heard the same flat resonance in their voices. If Crispin weren’t so busy with everything that had happened lately, he’d explain to Cat how the kindest thing to do was to erase Denise’s memory of all things undead. Perhaps Spade would do that himself, if Denise had become delusional. Kindness aside, if her grasp on reality had slipped, it would also eliminate a liability if everything Denise knew about them was erased from her recall.

Spade filled his satchel with enough clothes for a few days and went downstairs to the garage. Once settled behind the wheel of his Porsche, he put on dark shades and then clicked open the garage door. Bloody sun was already up. Spade gave it a baleful glare as he pulled out into the dawn.

Humans. Aside from tasting delicious, they were usually more trouble than they were worth.

Denise could barely breathe. Pain seared from her chest up her right arm and seemed to spread through her whole body. Lights danced in her vision. I’m dying…

“Why did you spray me with silver?” a conversational voice asked.

The hand came off her face and she sucked in deep, painful breaths. Some of the burning left her chest, and her eyes focused enough to see that she was still in the foyer by her front door. Denise tried to push against the man gripping her, but she was so weak, she couldn’t even raise her hands. If the stranger let go of her waist, she’d crumple to the floor.

“Answer me.” A new flash of pain accompanied his demand.

Denise managed to reply even though the tightness in her chest made it hard to breathe.

“Thought you were…a vampire.”