Ravenous

Than when a vampire turns you.

'It is worse. Much worse. They call it the Dark Larceny. Most demons start out human.' Alessandro looked away. 'They consume your soul and make you one of them. A nothing. A negative.'

There was such dread in his voice, she shuddered. 'Have you seen it done?'

His face drained of color, suddenly pasty beyond his already pale complexion. 'Yes,' was all he would say.

Chapter 10

'Hey, Brian.' Macmillan sat down at the bar, suddenly ravenous. He hadn't had a decent meal in days.

'Hey, Mac. What's up?' asked the bartender. He was tall and stocky and somewhere in his forties, still fit enough to take care of business if one of the clients got rowdy.

The Bayshore Pub formed one end of the strip mall across from St. Andrew's cemetery. It was Mac's favorite because it was close to the police station and there was always parking. Most days that was all he had the time or energy to consider.

'How are ya?' Brian asked.

'Busy.'

'I hear ya.'

Macmillan looked glumly at the rows of beer glasses on the bar. Nothing went with the fourth murder in two weeks like draft Guinness. Unfortunately, a sandwich and coffee would have to do. It was back to work after he grabbed something to eat.

'Kitchen closed yet?' he asked.

Brian looked at his watch. 'Just under the wire.'

Thank you, God. 'I'll have the steak sandwich. Medium-rare.'

'Fries?'

'Nah.' His stomach was a little off. Extra grease was pushing his luck.

Macmillan unbuttoned his raincoat, wondering if that was raindrops or something left over from the latest murder scene along the hem. It was hard to tell. The pub was only slightly better lit than the parking lot.

With weary inevitability, his mind went back to the scene. It had been another college coed. Another blond. Preliminary estimates on the time of death put it at around four thirty.

Which meant that Caravelli was in the clear, for all that he'd vanished from the Flanders scene. Mac had put surveillance on him and checked his whereabouts for the first murders. His alibis were good. One of his colleagues had even finally managed to question Caravelli right after sunset, arriving on the vamp's doorstep with a pair of uniforms. Apparently Caravelli had been civil but as forthcoming as the grave.

Why was it that all vampires had that jerk-off attitude? Sure, he'd saved Mac from whatever the hell those things were last night, but that didn't make him the bloody Fanged Avenger. Vamps were the same as everyone else. Eternal life didn't make a person anything besides old. The real value lay in what you did with all that time. As far as he could tell, most immortals wasted that opportunity on internal politics and fashion crimes.

'Here ya go.' Brian set a mug of coffee in front of Mac. No cream, no sugar. Like all good bartenders, Brian remembered these things.

'Thanks.'

'Food won't be long.'

'Great.' The coffee smelled like nirvana. That was what life was. Little things like good coffee, and a place where people knew how you liked it. He sipped gratefully. Vampires might get immortality, but look at their diet. What kind of a bargain was that?

Mac took another sip.

Tonight's body had been found in the wine cellar of the university's Faculty Club. No sunlight ever got down there, so a vampire could have done it despite the early hour. The neck wounds, the bruising, the positioning of the body had been the same. This one had a metal disk in her hand. The only one who hadn't was the one in the Flanders house, which made him think that somehow it got lost. What were those disks, anyway? A religious thing?

He took another swallow of Brian's strong coffee. He could feel his body groping for the caffeine. The only good point to this latest death was that the brass doubled the manpower on the case, which meant Mac finally got to take a break long enough for a hot meal, his first in three—or was it four?—days. He knew he shouldn't be sitting on his backside, stuffing his face, but he needed real food if he was going to pull another all-nighter. Unlike other players in this fiasco, he was only human.

Mac missed his partner, who was on maternity leave. Without her nagging to look after himself, he'd let work grind him down to the survival basics. Food. Clean clothes. He only vaguely remembered the concept of taking time out for himself. I used to cook for fun. I was really, really good. And when was the last time I talked to a woman about something besides dead bodies?

Too bad that Holly Carver had a boyfriend. She was everything: smart, pretty, brave, and she had that something that let a person know that if she was in their corner, she was there one hundred percent.

'See any of the game?' Brian asked, jerking his head at the silent big screen TV.

Mac looked up. 'Not so far. Flyers winning?'

Brian grunted in disgust, rattling glasses.

Mac started in on the bowl of junk food on the bar. He'd never used to be able to eat after a murder scene, but after the first dozen, his body finally took over.

A woman came in and sat down at a corner table. Mac looked because, well, he was busy, not dead. Plus, she looked like the murder victims: blond, pretty, and barely legal. Mac kept an eye on her via the mirror over the bar.

The waitress sauntered over to the girl's table. The girl ordered while the sound system cranked out a hard rock standard. Aerosmith, maybe? Not the pub's usual sound track, but Mac liked it. He needed something kick- ass.

'Hey, there, Suki,' he said as the waitress passed by on her way to key the order into the computer.

'Hi, Mac.' Suki stopped, thrusting out one hip and tilting her head, which caused the lime green spikes in her hair to list like the rigging of a capsizing schooner. 'Chickie over there says if you're gonna watch her all night you may as well join her.'

Mac raised his eyebrows. 'Oh, yeah?'

'Yeah.' Suki gave a cheerful leer. 'Your fairy godmother granted you a wish. Don't make me jealous, eh?'

Mac looked down at himself. He liked clothes and tried to dress well, so outside of the possible bloodstains, he was presentable.

'You're gorgeous, Gorgeous.' Suki slapped him gently on the side of the head.

'Gotta serve and protect,' Mac said with equal cheer, sliding off the bar stool.

The girl was sitting in the darkest corner of the bar—the only light was a candle in a cheap glass dish—but he could tell his first impression had been correct. She was stunning, shapely, and dressed to show it off in a dark, off-the-shoulder sweater. Her face was model beautiful, with high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes of stormy gray. Her hair was straight, blond, and hung past her elbows. Once, Mac had worked security for a movie set and seen some of the Hollywood lookers. This girl blew them all out of the water.

'Hi,' he said, sitting down. That put his back to the door, which he hated, but this once he'd make an exception.

The girl smiled. 'I'm Jenny.'

'I'm Mac.'

Suki was back, setting a fancy coffee—the kind with a mountain of whipped cream—in front of Jenny. Definitely not a model, then, with all that calorie-rich whip.

Then Suki set a pint of Guinness in front of Mac. She leaned close, putting her lips next to his ear. 'On the