Mostof Arturo’s vampires were young to Rick’s eyes. Then again, just abouteveryone was.
Satedwith the human blood that kept them alive, they’d most likely beendiscussing the evening’s exploits. Their latest mode of huntinginvolved finding a dinner party, inviting themselves over, mesmerizingthe whole group, and then having a taste of everyone. They didn’t killor turn anyone, which would draw too much attention, and the groupwould wake up in the morning thinking they’d had a marvelous—ifstrange—evening. Rick sometimes suggested to Arturo that he should opena restaurant or club and let the party come to him.
Arturo—byall accounts dashing, with golden hair swept back from a squareface—lay in a wingback armchair, legs draped over one of its arms. Helooked at Rick and raised his brows in surprise. “What have you broughtfor us, Ricardo?”
Thedozen vampires, men and women, straightened, perking up to look atHelen like a pack of wolves.
“Sheneeds a place to stay,” Rick said. “She’s under my protection.”
“Ricardo?”Helen whispered to him, and he hushed her.
“I’djust like to use the spare room for a couple of nights, if that’s allright.”
Theyoung man—he looked to be in his midtwenties, a little younger thanRick appeared—considered, tapping a finger against a chin. “Certainly.Why not?”
“Thanks.”
Hisarm still around her shoulders, he turned Helen back to the hallway,where he opened the first door on the right and guided her inside.
“Rick?What is this place, some kind of boardinghouse?”
“Sortof.”
“Whoare all those people?”
Theroom was absolutely dark. Helen gasped when he closed the door behindher. “Rick?”
Hedidn’t need to see to find the floor lamp in the corner and turn it on.
Theroom had a double bed with a mass of pillows and a quilted satincomforter, an oak dresser, the lamp, and not much else. The place wasfor sleeping out the day and storing clothing. A rug on the hardwoodfloor muffled footsteps.
Helenstared. “It’s a brothel. You’ve brought me to a brothel.”
Ifhe argued with her, he’d have to explain, which he wanted to avoid.
“Doyou mind?” he said. “I could find somewhere else.”
Shehesitated before shaking her head and saying, “No. It’s okay. Aslong as it isn’t one of Blake’s.”
“It’snot.”
Shesquared her shoulders a little more firmly, as if steeling herself.“I think maybe I’m ready for that drink you offered earlier.”
“I’llhave to go back to the parlor for it. You mind waiting here?”
“I’llbe fine,” she said, wearing a brave smile.
Heleft the room, and Arturo was waiting in the hallway, leaning againstthe wall, his arms crossed.
“Ricardo.”
“Arturo,”he answered.
“Youbrought her here because you want to hide her. Why?”
“She’sin trouble.”
“Whatkind of trouble?”
“Thestraightforward kind. In over her head with the wrong people.”
“Small-towngirl trying to make it in the city?”
“Somethinglike that.”
“Hmm.Quaint. Well, I’m always happy to do a good deed for a pretty girl. Butyou owe me a favor now, yes?”
Rickducked his gaze to hide a smile. He handled Arturo by letting himthink he was in charge. “That’s how it usually works, yes.”
“Excellent.”
“Iassume the alcohol cabinet is included in the favor?”
“What?You’re having to get your girls drunk first now?” Arturo said in mockastonishment.
“Thankyou, Arturo.” Rick slipped around him and into the parlor.
Hereturned to the room with a tumbler of ice and a bottle of whiskey.Helen was on the bed. Her jacket was off and lying on the dresser, hershoes were tossed in a corner, and she was peeling off her stockings.Rick started to apologize and back out of the room again, when shecalled him over.
“I’msorry, I just wanted to get comfortable since I’m going to be here awhile,” she said.
Heset the tumbler on the dresser and poured a finger.
“Ricardo,is it?” she said. “Are you Mexican? Because you don’t look Mexican.”
“Spanish,”he said. “At least, if you go back far enough.”
“Spanish,hm? That’sromantic.”
Hehanded her the whiskey, which she sipped, smiling at him over theglass. “You only brought one glass. Don’t you want any?”
“I’mfine,” he said.
“Willyou sit here with me?”
Thiswas a turning point. He’d been in enough situations like it torecognize it. “Helen, I didn’t bring you here to take advantage.”
“Despitethe bed and this being a brothel?” Her smile turned wry.
“Youreally will be safe here,” he said, though his protestations werestarting to sound weak. Truth be told, he wanted to sit by her, andhis lips grew flush from wanting to press against her skin.
She’dtouched up her lipstick while he was gone. The top button of her blousewas undone, the hem of her skirt lay around her knees, and her legswere bare. She thought she was seducing him. But as soon as he sat onthat bed, she wouldn’t be in control of the situation. She didn’tknow that. And if he played it right, she never would know. So. Whatwas the right thing to do, really?
Shedrained the whiskey and patted the bed next to her—right next toher—and he sat. He laid his arm across the headboard behind her, andshe pressed herself against him.
“Idon’t meet a lot of nice guys, working the way I do. You’re a nice guy,Rick.”
“Ifyou say so.”
“Yeah,I do.”
Pressingher hand to his cheek, she drew him close and kissed him on the mouth.She was eager, insistent. Who was he to deny her? She tasted of whiskeyand heat, alive and lovely. He drew the tumbler from her hand and setit on the floor, then returned to kissing her, wrapping his arms aroundher, trapping her. She scratched at the buttons on his shirt.
Thefire that rose up in him in response wasn’t sexual. It was hunger. Avisceral, primal, gnawing hunger, as if he hadn’t eaten in centuries.His only nourishment, his only possible release, lay under her skin. Ifhe let that monster go, he would tear into her, spilling her over thebed, swimming in her innards to better feed on her blood.
Therewas a better way.
Heworked slowly, carefully, kissing across her mouth and jaw, sucking ather ear as she gasped, then moving down her neck, tracing acollarbone, unfastening her blouse button by button, pulling aside herbrassiere to gain access to a perfect
