Kiss of Crimson (2 page)

Dante pulled a dagger from a sheath on his hip and let it fly. The blade struck hard, embedding between the Rogue‘s shoulders. The weapon was specially crafted of steel and titanium, the latter metal being extremely poisonous to the corrupted blood systems and organs of the Rogues. One kiss of that deadly blade and a Rogue vampire would start cooking from the inside out at record speed. Except this one didn‘t.

It flung a savage look at Dante, its eyes glowing amber, fangs bloody as it hissed a vicious warning. But the Rogue weathered the dagger‘s assault, holding fast to its prey and swinging its head around to drink with even greater urgency.

What the hell?

Dante ran up on the feeding vampire with another blade in hand. He didn‘t waste a second, going for the neck this time, intending to cut it clean through. The blade sank in, slicing deep. But the suckhead spun out of the attack before Dante could finish it off. With a pained roar, it dropped the female and focused all of its fury on Dante.

―Get the humans out of here!‖ Dante shouted to the Darkhaven vampires as he yanked the woman out of the fray and shoved her toward the others.

―Move it, now! Clean her up, scrub both their memories, and get them the fuck out of here!‖

The two young males jolted into action. They grabbed the shrieking women and pulled them away from the scene while Dante considered the strangeness of what he‘d just witnessed.

The vampire didn‘t disintegrate as it should have from the double dose of titanium Dante had delivered. It wasn‘t a Rogue, even though it had been hunting prey and feeding like the worst blood addict.

Dante stared into the transformed face, the extruded fangs and elliptical pupils swimming in irises awash in fiery color. A foul-smelling pink spittle crusted around the vampire‘s mouth, turning Dante‘s stomach with its stench.

Offended, he backed off, guessing the vampire to be about the same age as the two Darkhaven youths. A frigging kid. Ignoring the pulsing gash in its neck, the vampire reached back and removed Dante‘s dagger from its shoulder. It growled, nostrils flaring as though it would spring at any moment.

But then it ran.

The suckhead bolted away at a fast clip, the hem of its trench coat flapping behind like a sail as it headed deeper into the city on a zigzagging path. Dante didn‘t let up for a second. He followed it down one street after another, through alleyways and neighborhoods, then farther out, into the dockyards outside Boston proper, where empty factories and old industrial parks stood like bleak sentinels along the riverfront. The low throb of music pounded from one of the buildings, the heavy bass and intermittent flashes of strobe lights no doubt coming from a rave taking place somewhere nearby.

Ahead of him a few hundred feet, the vampire sped down a dock toward a rickety boathouse. Dead end. Spitting fury through its open jaws, the suckhead swung around and went on the offensive, roaring up on Dante like a lunatic. Fresh blood soaked the front of its clothing from the brutal assault on the human female. The vampire snapped and clawed at him, its large fangs dripping saliva, the gaping maw oozing more of the foul-smelling pinkish foam. Its amber eyes glowed with pure malice.

Dante felt the change come over him as well, battle rage coursing through him, transforming him into a creature not so different from the one he fought. With a snarl, he threw the suckhead down onto the wood planks of the dock. One knee planted in the barrel chest of his opponent, Dante drew his twin
malebranche
blades. The arced weapons gleamed in the moonlight, lethally beautiful. Even if the titanium proved useless, there was more than one way to kill a vampire, Rogue or not. Dante brought the blades down, first one, then the other, slashing deep into the fleshy throat of the crazed vampire and cleanly severing its head. Dante kicked the remains off the dock and into the water. The dark river would conceal the corpse until morning, then the UV rays of daylight would take care of the rest.

A wind kicked up off the water, carrying the stench of industrial pollution and something... else. Dante heard movement nearby, but it wasn‘t until he felt the burn of tearing flesh in his leg that he realized he was under a further attack. He took another piercing hit, this one in his torso. Jesus Christ.

From somewhere behind him, up near the old factory, someone was firing on him. The gun‘s report was silenced but unmistakably that of an automatic rifle.

His dull night was suddenly getting more interesting than he liked.

Dante dropped to the ground as another shot whizzed past him and into the river. He rolled, going for the cover of the boathouse as the sniper let another few rounds fly. One shot bit into the corner of the shingled structure, shattering the old wood like confetti. Dante had a handgun on him, a hefty 9mm backup for the blades he preferred to take into combat. He drew the piece now but knew it would be all but useless against the sniper at this range.

More rounds peppered the boathouse, one of them grazing Dante‘s cheek as he peered around to get a sight on his attacker.

Oh, not good.

Four dark shapes were moving down the sloping embankment from the area of the factory, all of them carrying serious hardware. While Breed vampires could live for hundreds of years and withstand severe physical injuries, they were still essentially flesh and bone. Pump enough lead into them, sever major arteries—or worse, their head—

and they died, same as any other living being. But not without one hell of a fight.

Dante kept low and waited for the newcomers to come into range. When they did, he opened fire on them, taking out a knee of one and planting a slug into the head of another. He was oddly relieved to see that they were Rogues, the titanium in the custom-crafted rounds dropping them instantly and sending them into swift cellular meltdown.

The remaining Rogues fired back, and Dante narrowly avoided the spray, moving farther back along the side of the boathouse. Damn. Taking cover meant sacrificing the position of offense. Not to mention the fact that it impeded his ability to track his enemies‘ approach. He heard them coming closer as he reloaded a new clip into the pistol.

Then, silence.

He

waited

for

a

second,

gauging

his

surroundings.

Something bigger than a bullet flew through the air toward the boathouse. It clattered heavily onto the planks of the dock and rolled to a stop. Holy Christ.

They‘d lobbed a frigging grenade at him.

Dante sucked in a breath and flung himself into the river a mere instant before the thing blew, tossing the boathouse and half the dock into the air with a giant explosion of smoke, flame, and shrapnel. The percussion was like a sonic boom under the murky water. Dante felt his head snap back, his entire body racked with unbearable pressure. Above him, debris rained down onto the surface of the river, backlit by a blinding spray of orange fire.

His vision clouded as the concussion dragged him under. He started sinking, drifting with the strong pull of the current.

Unable to move as the river swept him, unconscious and bleeding, downstream.

CHAPTER Two

S
pecial delivery for Doctor Tess Culver.‖

Tess glanced up from a patient‘s file and smiled, despite the late hour and her general fatigue. ―One of these days, I‘m going to learn to say no to you.‖

―You think you need more practice? How about if I ask you to marry me again?‖

She sighed, shaking her head at the bright blue eyes and dazzling all-American grin that were suddenly turned on her. ―I‘m not talking about us, Ben. And what happened to eight o‘clock? It‘s fifteen minutes to midnight, for Pete‘s sake.‖

―You got plans to turn into a pumpkin or something?‖ He pushed off the doorjamb and sauntered into her office. Leaning down, he kissed her cheek. ―Sorry I‘m so late. These things don‘t tend to adhere to the clock.‖

―Uh-huh. So, where is it?‖

―Around back, in the van.‖

Tess stood, pulling an elastic hair band from her wrist and fastening it around her unbound hair. The mass of blondish-brown curls was unruly, even freshly styled. Sixteen hours into her shift at the clinic left it in a state of total anarchy. She blew a wisp of hair from her eyes and strode past her exboyfriend to the hallway outside.

―Nora, will you prep a syringe of ketaminexylazine, please? And ready the exam room for me too—the big one.‖

―You bet,‖ chirped her assistant. ―Hi, Ben. Happy Halloween.‖

He shot her a wink and a crooked smile that would have melted the knees of any red-blooded woman. ―Nice costume, Nora. The Swiss Miss braids and
lederhosen
are a great look for you.‖

“Danke schön,”
she replied, beaming at his attention as she skirted the reception station and headed for the clinic pharmacy.

―Where‘s your costume, Tess?‖

―I‘m wearing it.‖ Walking ahead of him through the kennel area, past half a dozen sleepy dogs and nervous cats peering at them through their cage bars, Tess rolled her eyes. ―It‘s called the Super Vet Who‘s Probably Going to Get Arrested for This One Day costume.‖

―I won‘t let you get into any trouble. I haven‘t yet, have I?‖

―What about you?‖ She pushed open the door to the back storage room of the small clinic and walked through with him. ―This is a dangerous business you‘re in, Ben. You take too many risks.‖

―You worried about me, Doc?‖

―Of course I worry. I love you. You know that.‖

―Yeah,‖ he said, a bit sulkily. ―Like a brother.‖

The rear door of the place opened out onto a narrow alley that was seldom occupied, except by the occasional homeless person using the wall of her low-rent animal clinic near the riverfront as a backrest. Tonight Ben‘s black VW van was parked there. Low growls and snuffles sounded from within the vehicle, and there was a gentle rocking of its shocks, as if something big was pacing back and forth inside.

Which, of course, was exactly what was happening.

―It‘s contained inside there, right?‖

―Yeah. Don‘t worry. Besides, it‘s as docile as a kitten, I promise you.‖

Tess slid him a look of doubt as she stepped off the concrete stoop and walked around to the back doors of the van. ―Do I want to know where you got this one?‖

―Probably not.‖

For the past five years or so, Ben Sullivan had been acting as a personal crusader for the wellbeing and protection of abused exotic animals. He researched his rescue missions case by case, as cleverly as the most covert government spy. Then, like a one-man SWAT team, he moved in, liberating mistreated, malnourished, or endangered and illegal animals from their abusive caretakers and turning them over to legitimate sanctuaries that were equipped to properly care for the creatures. Sometimes, he made an emergency pit stop at Tess‘s clinic to get treatment for various animal wounds and injuries that needed immediate care. It was actually how they‘d met two years ago. Ben had brought in an abused serval with an intestinal blockage. The small exotic cat was recovered from a drug dealer‘s house, where it had chewed up and swallowed a rubber dog toy, and it needed to have the blockage surgically removed. It was a painstaking, lengthy procedure, but Ben had stayed the entire time. The next thing Tess knew, they were dating exclusively.

She wasn‘t sure how they‘d gone from fooling around to falling in love, but somewhere along the way it had happened. For Ben, at any rate. Tess loved him back—adored him, really—but she just didn‘t see them going past the stage of good friends who happened to sleep together from time to time. Even that had cooled off lately, by her own initiative.

―Would you like to do the honors?‖ she asked him.

He reached out and grabbed the handle of the double doors, carefully swinging them wide.

―My God,‖ Tess breathed, utterly awed.

The Bengal tiger was emaciated and mangy, with an open sore oozing on its front leg from an apparent shackle burn, but even haggard as it was, it was the most majestic thing she‘d ever seen. It stared back at them, its mouth slack, tongue out and panting, fear dilating its pupils until they were nearly full black. The tiger grunted, knocking its head against the bars of Ben‘s containment cage. Tess cautiously moved closer. ―I know, poor baby. You‘ve seen better days, haven‘t you?‖

She frowned, noting the odd shape of its front paws, the lack of definition near the toes.

―Declawed?‖ she asked Ben, unable to mask the scorn in her voice.

―Yep. Defanged too.‖

―Jesus. If they thought they needed to own a beautiful animal like this, why‘d they mutilate it so badly?‖

―Can‘t have your advertising mascot shredding your customers or their little brats, now, can you?‖

Tess glanced at him. ―Advertising mascot? You don‘t mean the gun shop out on—‖ She broke off, shaking her head. ―Never mind. I really don‘t want to know. Let‘s get this big kitty inside so I can have a look.‖

Ben pulled down a custom-fitted ramp from the back of the van. ―Hop in and take the back of the cage. I‘ll hold the front, since it will be heaviest on the way down.‖