Death Calls. Caridad Pineiro

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      “A nouveau Italian straight from Mulberry Street.” He held the glass up in a toast.

      Despite her earlier recollection about where one too many tequilas might lead her, she hoped a few more would create the right degree of numb. Help her forget about babies, husbands and houses filled with family—the kinds of things Ryder could never give her. She clicked her glass with Foley’s and bolted back the Cuervo. The sting made her wince as the liquor burned its way down her throat. Slamming the glass onto the bar, she motioned for another.

      “Extremely bad, I guess,” Foley said, which only earned him a sidelong glance. He was sipping his drink slowly, savoring the grisly libation.

      “What do you want?”

      Foley leaned closer. So close that his chilled breath bathed the side of her face. With it came the metallic smell of blood. She almost gagged.

      “Just to chat with a friend.”

      She gave him a forceful nudge in the ribs to remind him he had invaded her space. “You and I aren’t—”

      “Pals? Chums? Aren’t you and Ryder…friendly?”

      Ignoring him, she laid her hands on the bar’s rough surface. Beneath her palms she registered the bumps, dents and gouges worn into it by misuse, by the violence for which the Blood Bank was known in the undead world. Again the phantom pain came to her neck and she inched her hand upward.

      Foley ran the icy pad of his finger over the spot of the long-healed and invisible injury in a caress that made her skin crawl. “He’s bitten you, hasn’t he? More than once. And not just to feed. Yum.” He smacked his lips with pleasure.

      She yanked away from his touch, angry with his intrusion into her private life. “So what? Taking a survey?”

      “With each bite his control over you grows. Your need for him intensifies until…”

      You beg him to take you. To make you like him.

      Which scared the shit out of her.

      She prided herself on having learned control a long time ago. In the year following her father’s death, she had lost her restraint and her identity in the ambience of places like the Blood Bank. It was only after waking one morning facedown in vomit, her younger brother passed out beside her, that she realized she was on the road to oblivion and taking her brother with her. She had mustered the strength to deal with her pain, to restore her sense of self and honor. It had taken her a long time to control her rebellion, to choose what she knew was right.

      Lately she seemed to have less control over her emotions, over her choices, and worse, she didn’t have a clue as to whether her relationship with Ryder was right or wrong. Which only partially explained why she found herself here, in a bar catering to the undead. Sharing a drink with a vampire who would drain her, given the right circumstances. Avoiding the lover who made her plead for a passion so intense….

      That was the one thing she knew in her uncertain life. If Ryder was a drug, she was a Ryder junkie.

      When she had first met him, Ryder had been living his life as humanly as possible. The attraction between them had been that of woman to man, man to woman. She hadn’t known then just how hard it was for Ryder to control the beast within him. Or, worse, how much she would come to like the demon and what it made her feel.

      The spot at her neck tingled again. When Ryder had been mostly human, she could tell herself their affair was right, but now that he was finally exploring his vampire powers, now that he was becoming less human she could no longer avoid the truth.

      The change hadn’t happened overnight. It was only in the past year or so, when they’d become more involved with Manhattan’s other vampires, that Ryder had begun to change. She hadn’t noticed at first, but recently it had become impossible to ignore. Ryder was darker and more powerful than she could have imagined. Worse yet, she liked his transformation. Too much.

      And that was what troubled her the most—how much she wanted to share in his darkness, how much she craved the intense emotions only he could rouse. Was she losing herself to him?

      Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she half slipped off the high stool and tossed some money on the bar. Foley grabbed her arm, but she tugged free of his grasp. “Don’t.”

      “Afraid?” His feral smile held a hint of fang.

      But Foley’s toothy smile didn’t scare her. It only served to remind her of the vampire underworld that called to the darkness within her. A darkness she had thought she’d left behind after her father’s death. One she didn’t want to revisit.

      “Screw you, Foley.”

      She walked away, chased by his laughter. Or maybe it was Foley calling, “Change your mind?” that pushed her onward.

      She needed to be away from the Blood Bank and any other reminders of the surreal state of her life. She took a long walk before flagging a cab to go home.

      Home. She needed to go home. Grab a pint of ice cream on the way and settle down to try to find some inner peace. Today had been just too normal. Lunch with a friend. The happiness and joy of Sylvia’s coming child. The yearning for the contentment home and family could provide.

      Even before Ryder, Diana hadn’t thought much about that kind of life. Definitely not since becoming an FBI agent. Her career had taken up so much of her energy that she hadn’t considered that at some point she might want…more.

      But now she couldn’t refute the possibilities and impossibilities. She had at one time thought she’d have a normal life. A husband and kids. Growing old. Dying. Everyday stuff.

      She didn’t want a life of the abnormal—one hidden beneath the surface of the city. She had existed like that once before and it had nearly consumed her.

      Just as Ryder and his darkness would consume her if she didn’t find a way to let go.

      

      Monday was their night. His club was closed then, which meant they usually had the leisure of a long dinner, possibly a movie. Mortal things. Things that people who were dating regularly did.

      Like making love. A maybe-not-so-mortal thing with them.

      Was that why she had called tonight to tell him she didn’t want to see him?

      She’d been that blunt. Diana wasn’t the kind of woman who made excuses.

      And he wasn’t the kind of man to…

      But he wasn’t a man anymore, Ryder reminded himself as he perused the streets from the balcony of his apartment. Across the East River, the large red Pepsi and Silvercup Studio signs glowed. The erratic string of lights from the bridge and Roosevelt Island tramway twinkled. In the water there were a few scattered boats, not many.

      It was late, although in the city that never slept, the activity was incessant.

      Where was Diana in all that activity? Holed up in her office working on a case? Asleep in her apartment? Or somewhere else?

      The last possibility bothered him more than he liked to admit. He had never considered himself a jealous СКАЧАТЬ