Ben rapped on the divider, and the driver rolled down the screen.
“Yes, sir?”
“Stop the car please.”
Ben opened the door as soon as the vehicle came to a halt and disappeared into the night.
11
Ben walked through the pitch-black streets of Bucharest, a spring drizzle falling on his shoulders and dampening his hair, which fell onto his forehead in dark wet curls. He couldn’t stop replaying Gavin’s words in his mind.
She’s a vampire, but she’s human too… She did the only thing she could think to do when someone she loved was dying.
No, no, no, no. She could have taken him to the hospital. She could have listened to him. He’d begged her so many times—
If you think your hate will prevent me from doing what it takes to keep you safe, then you do not understand me at all.
Ben heard human footsteps behind him, at least three sets. He smelled their breath tinged with vodka, and their blood.
Yes. A fight was exactly what he wanted.
Ben turned right into an alley and allowed the men to follow him closer. He slowed down, waiting for them to approach.
They shouted something in Romanian. He recognized a few words, but they were slurred. All three were very drunk. Ben turned, his hands shoved in his pockets, and the men came to a stop.
One of them, the stumbling one on the right, blinked slowly three times; then with the instincts of the truly drunk, he turned and walked back down the alley.
“Idioți,” he shouted.
Well, that didn’t need any translation.
Ben stood at the end of the alley, calmly waiting for the men to get tired of mumbling insults at him and laughing.
The one in front held out his hand. “Tourist,” he spat out in English. His head was shaved and he wore a military-style jacket with dirty medals all over the front. “Hey, tourist. Give me your money, ass hole.”
“The accent needs some work.” Ben was relieved he had some human jackasses to distract him. “I guess I can’t say anything though. I don’t speak a lick of Romanian, stronzo.”
The man on the left narrowed his eyes.
“Does that translate?” Ben asked, stepping toward them.
The drunk on the left stepped back, but the man in the jacket didn’t move. He puffed out his chest and took a knife from his pocket.
“Give me your money,” he slurred. “See?” He held out the knife. “Ass. Hole.”
Ben’s arm moved so fast the man wouldn’t even be able to see it. He punched out swiftly and caught the man straight in the throat. The guy stumbled back and fell, clutching his neck and wheezing. The man on the left turned and ran into the wall, righted himself, and then ran toward the street.
Ben walked over to the man in the jacket and picked him up by the collar. Then he shoved him against the wall, put his hand on the man’s head, and let his amnis wash over him.
“Not so tough now, are you?” Ben kicked the knife that had fallen out of the man’s hand. “Not so tough without your friends and your knife.”
Ben wanted to hurt him. He wanted to humiliate him. He wanted to move his thumb an inch to the left and gouge out one of the vacant eyes of the human predator who’d followed a stranger down an alley. He wanted…
“Give me your money.” Ben bent the man’s neck to the side, exposing the artery. “Ass. Hole.”
The man was in a daze as Ben bit into his neck and drank. He didn’t struggle or try to push Ben away. He was weak-minded and intoxicated on top of it.
The mugger’s body odor was revolting. Ben took a few long drinks just to sate his hunger; then he sealed the wounds in the man’s neck, let him go, and picked up the knife that had dropped on the ground. The human slumped to the ground with his eyes closed, and Ben kicked his feet out of the way, causing the man to fall to his side on the dirty street.
He’d be fine. The human would wake the next day with a hell of a headache and a nasty bruise on his neck.
And no knife.
Since Ben was feeling petty, he crouched down in front of the man and systematically sliced off every other medal on the jacket. Then he pocketed the trinkets, took the knife, and launched himself into the air.
He flew over the city, grateful for the cloud cover, and perched on the roof of an art nouveau palace with glass domes that overlooked a new building project made of tall, sweeping mirrored glass.
What a weird and wonderful city.
Ben decided that Bucharest fit his mood. He couldn’t decide if he was happy, angry, or bitter most nights. He loved being with Chloe and Gavin again. It almost made him feel like himself. But he wasn’t himself. Not anymore. And the people he thought would understand that, like Chloe and Gavin, didn’t seem to.
He tossed the mugger’s knife across the roof and dumped the cheap medals out of his pocket. Then he pulled out the heavy-cased phone he had to use now, and a wave of bitterness spilled into him.
He missed sleek electronics.
He missed driving whatever car he wanted.
He missed eating a giant chicken burrito and taking a nap afterward in a sun-warmed hammock. He’d never feel that again, and it pissed him off.
He rubbed an ache in his chest. Was it possible for vampires to get heartburn? It would serve him right for drinking vodka-infused blood from a wannabe-be mugger.
He pushed the button on his giant phone. “Cara, check the time in Dublin.”
“Voice command accepted, Ben Vecchio. Checking time in Dublin, Ireland.” Cara came back a second later.
