Sex and the Single Vamp (13 page)

Chapter Seventeen

“Buddy, you got dumped on national television,” Andy said.

Deacon kept his eyes trained on Cici’s house from across the street in the apartment he was using for surveillance. When Cici had started having trouble, he’d bought the building from the owner, who was highly motivated by a cash offer and quick settlement. It was the ideal place to keep an eye on her and perfectly situated to let him know who else was also watching her. He’d also purchased the building across the street from Your Other Half; he was nothing but compulsively thorough.

Cici would be royally pissed if she ever found out, but her discovery was unlikely since—as Andy had pointed out—in response to a question about their relationship status she’d pointedly kicked his ass to the curb on a DC edition of the
Entertainment Nightly
show. Nice.

He had it on his DVR, and when he really wanted to fuck with his head, he watched it over and over in a constant loop. He’d never thought of himself as a masochist, but apparently you
could
teach an old dog a new kink.

Andy continued, ignoring the possibility Deacon might not want to talk about this topic. “If you ask me, I say that if you have to get dumped then it’s best to go big.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

“But you
wanted
to.” He tapped on his chest just above his heart and smiled. “I felt it in here.”

“Fuck off,” Deacon said while checking the row of monitors on the wall. Each one had a view of a room in Cici’s apartment and business displayed in amazing HD detail. The shitty security company she’d hired to come sweep for all the stuff he’d planted had missed all the real stuff and found the decoys. Fucking amateurs. And the guy who came out to supervise had stared at her tits way too long. Only Andy had prevented Deacon from meeting the guy in a dark alley and teaching him how to keep his eyes on his own paper.

All of this was a violation of her privacy. He knew it, but he couldn’t be sorry. It had been over a week and nothing had happened. His gut told him it was coming. The asshole wasn’t going to just give up—he was waiting for the right time. And Deacon was going to be there to crash the party.

Cici had gone to total radio silence.

“She’s going out to dinner tonight.” Andy looked at his notes, flipping pages until he found the info. “That new Peruvian place in Georgetown. She made reservations on Open Table.”

“Dinner?”

“Relax. It isn’t a date. She’s going with Mya and David-the-accountant-from-Springfield.”

Deacon’s chest unclenched slowly, the pain sharp even as it subsided. It never went away, though. Even when he managed a few moments of sleep or total concentration on something else, the ache remained in permanent residence. He didn’t allow self-pity—that was a luxury given to people who hadn’t orchestrated their own agony. He deserved this and he would endure it.

“She’ll calm down, and when she does, you’ll work this out,” Andy said, all traces of humor gone from his tone.

“I’m not counting on it. I hurt her badly and she might never forgive me.”

“No way. I saw you two together—”

Deacon cut him off. He didn’t bullshit himself and he wasn’t going to let Andy do it, either. “That was before she found out about my turning her, the years of surveillance…” He slashed his hand through the air at the litany of things stacked against him on this one. All his own damn fault. Didn’t make it suck any less.

“So, how are you going to get her to drink?”

“I don’t know, but I will.” Deacon hadn’t told Andy the whole story about the curse. He’d been too raw and angry to discuss the details, but he knew he needed to. This week had given him time to get his shit straight and a good portion of it involved his friend. He couldn’t leave him behind with cleanup duty and no heads-up. “I wasn’t telling you the truth when I said it didn’t have any side effects.”

Andy didn’t even turn around. He was busy clicking through the monitors, touching the screen to enlarge certain details. “Well, unless it’s going to do something like make her grow facial hair, don’t tell her until after the deed is done.”

“Nothing like that.” Deacon checked the street again. All clear. “When she drinks from me, I’ll die.”

“Yeah, right,” Andy said, looking over his shoulder as he rolled his eyes. Something in Deacon’s face must have given him away because his friend quickly sobered, swinging his chair around and abandoning the screens. “That’s not funny, Deac. Don’t be an asshole.”

“It’s true.” He held his hand up when Andy opened his mouth to protest. “I’m not fucking kidding. Cici doesn’t know that part and you cannot”—he pointed a finger at him for emphasis—“you cannot tell her. Understood?”

Andy nodded, his jaw clenched tight. “Fuck you.”

“You keep talking to me like that and I’ll take you out of my will.”

“Your what?”

Deacon turned back to the bank of windows, scanning the street, the shadows around the house. All clear.

“I left you the business, the apartment, and several pieces of property. The rest goes to Cici to keep, sell, or burn to the ground if she wants.” He glanced over his shoulder and glared at his friend. “Don’t let her burn anything down.”

“No burning. Got it.”

He turned away again. He couldn’t look at Andy’s stricken face. He knew what he was feeling. They’d been friends a long time—brothers—and this would be hard. He was glad he wasn’t going to be the one left behind. “The estate in England and the title aren’t mine to give away so the Queen will have to find herself another Duke.”

The visit with the attorney had been maudlin and bizarre. After so many years as a vampire, it was still crazy to think of preparing to die. He’d survived wars, fought like a demon to avoid death, and here he was walking to it willingly.

“You’re really going to do this for her?” Andy asked, his voice soft with no hint of his usual sarcasm.

“I would do anything for her.” And he would. He had been hers to order around and dispose of at will since the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. There had never been a question of whether he loved her—just the long lead time for him to finally realize it.

They sat in silence and it reminded Deacon of the hush that fell over a battalion or a unit before they ran into battle. Even then, those young boys knew someone had to die. It was the only way.

A crackle across the comms broke the reverie. Deacon glanced at the signal, noting it was one of his men watching the back of the property.

“Kestral One, this is Delta. A black sedan just pulled in.” His crew member rattled off the license number and Andy keyed it into the database.

“It’s David-the-accountant.” Andy pointed at the screen as it filled with a photo of the guy and all his information. “This is the most vanilla guy I’ve ever investigated. He pays his taxes. Votes Democrat and gives money to the group that has those gruesome animal abuse commercials.”

“I don’t know how he’s keeping Mya’s attention.”

“It’s his dick.”

Deacon chuckled. “I don’t know. I’ve barely spoken to the guy. He seems nice enough.”

“I didn’t say he
was
a dick.” Andy laughed, tapping on the keyboard and bringing up the camera in the back of Cici’s house. “Apparently, he’s got a good nine and a half inches hiding out in his Lands’ End khakis, according to some guys at his gym.”

Deacon had to give the guy props for that. “Go Mya.”

He scanned the street again, touching his ear to increase the comms volume from inside Cici’s house. Her house was just out of reach for his vampire hearing to catch everything, but with this unit, he could hear it all as Mya and David were greeted at the back door. He zeroed in on the happiness in her voice. He’d spent way too much time listening to her cry since she’d moved out of his apartment.

“He’s from DC, right?” Deacon asked.

“Yep. Born in Williamsburg but has lived here since he was three.”

“I remember.” He’d paused when he first read that detail in the file but dismissed it. Lots of people were born in Williamsburg. Not such a great coincidence. “Refresh me. This guy have anything weird in his past? An arrest? Unpaid debts?”

“Nope. He’s a Boy Scout, literally. Doesn’t smoke. The only thing remarkable about him is what his neighbors don’t say.”

“Explain.”

“They all said he was nice. Friendly, but not too much. Keeps to himself but will help if asked. No late nights at his house. Doesn’t attend the block parties but participates in trick-or-treat.”

“Sounds like every famous serial killer.” Deacon imitated some of the interviews he’d seen on TV. “
Ted Bundy was such a nice man. I never suspected a thing
.”

“Sure. But this guy checks out everywhere—”

Movement caught Deacon’s eye and he held his fist up in the universal sign for “stop.” It was a shadow on the perimeter of Cici’s property, really in her neighbor’s yard, but it was moving slowly toward her.

“Do you see that?” he asked Andy, rising from his chair when got a nod. “I’m going down to check it out. Monitor me on comms.”

“You got it.”

Deacon grabbed his Sig Sauer, wedging it into his shoulder holster as he took the stairs two at a time at vampire speed. Once on the street, he slowed down to a human pace, slipping into the shadows as he made his way across the street. The man—he could tell at this distance—was human and armed; he could smell the strong scent of gun oil on his body. He was crouched down. His heartbeat elevated as he listened to a communication unit looped around his ear.

Mr. Shadows wasn’t alone.

“Delta, this is Alpha One, you have any extra visitors?” he whispered to his guys stationed behind the house.

“Alpha One, this is Delta. Yes, we have company. Two visitors.”

“Take them. Restrain but don’t kill,” he said as he contemplated whether to go in with his gun drawn. Deciding against it, he crouched lower, running along the edges, hidden by the night.

“Copy that.” Delta signed off as he crept up behind Mr. Shadows.

The guy was so focused on where he was going he didn’t even hear Deacon coming. A rear naked choke, forearm pressed against the guy’s carotid artery, and he only put up the weakest fight before he slumped in his arms. Out like a light. Sleeping like a baby. Deacon lowered the guy to the ground and whipped off his mask.
He was one ugly baby.

Deacon tapped his comm unit while he wrapped the guy’s arms and legs in zip ties and then looped them together. He wouldn’t be going anywhere soon. A quick application of duct tape on his ugly mug and he wouldn’t be playing Paul Revere, either.

“Kestral One. Delta. This is Alpha One. My target is secure. What’s your status?” He patted the guy down, locating an M9, which he placed in his leg holster just in case.

“Alpha One, one target secure. Other target fleeing on foot. My partner in pursuit.”

“Delta, move to the back door of residence. Stand by. I’m coming to you. Kestral One, monitor all entrances.”

“Alpha One, this is Kestral One. Copy—” Deacon heard Andy hesitate over the unit, a small stutter, but the prickle on the back of his neck said this is it.

“Alpha One, disturbance inside the residence. Unsure of origin.”

Deacon was off before Andy could relay anything else. He spotted Delta in the alleyway and passed him in a dead run. “Secure the area.” He heard his man behind him, automatically falling into play.

The back of the residence was dark except for the lights mounted on the side of each door. He bounded silently up the stairs and onto the small porch, removing his gun from the shoulder holster and prepping it for single action. He wasn’t going to waste any time taking down the asshole in Cici’s place.

He braced himself for what was to come, poised and starting the countdown, when he heard it, so clear he might as well have been in the room with her.

The crackle of a Taser. The thud of a body onto the floor. The acceleration of two human heartbeats, and then the worst…

Cici’s scream.

Chapter Eighteen

She didn’t mean to scream.

Years of training as a spy and working in dangerous places and events had schooled her to have more self-control, but the sight of Mya convulsing under the assault of electricity on her body and falling to the floor in a twitching, moaning mass was one of the scariest things she’d ever seen.

It was in her home, violating the safety and tranquillity of her place to escape.

And David Allen was the man holding the Taser.

His face was contorted, spittle oozing from the edges of his lips, his pale skin flushed and slicked with sweat. Where was the man who’d just walked through her door, handed her a bottle of wine, and offered her a kiss on the cheek? Where was the mellow accountant who’d wined, dined, and romanced her best friend for the last few weeks?

Not staring out at her from eyes so dilated from crazy.

He dropped the Taser onto the floor with a loud clunk and advanced on her. His right hand disappeared into his jacket and emerged holding a gun; he wasted no time in pointing it at her and lunging forward. Cici zigged, but he anticipated her move and grabbed her around the waist, bringing the gun up and down across her face. She flinched, and the butt of the gun glanced across her upper eyebrow with a bone-crunching, mind-boggling crack that left her dazed and unable to run.

Her ears were ringing from the blow, but through the din she heard the crash of a doorframe, the toppling of several barstools around the island in her kitchen. The thud of boots on the floorboards were fast—vampire fast—and she knew who it was before she looked up through the haze of pain and the stream of blood pouring down her face.

Deacon. Dark eyes blazing with hatred, body poised to strike. He advanced like the Pale Horseman, bringing death without apology or hesitation.

Saving her. Again.

Another woman might have cowered at the horrible beauty etched on his face, but she saw him very clearly. This man was not one thing and many parts of him were not nice or kind, but they were only facets of what made him shine.

“Stop!” David screamed and she felt the muzzle of the gun wedged into her side. It was perfectly angled for a gut shot, one that would tear her to pieces and then leave her to bleed out on the floor. “I’ll kill her.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.” David jammed the gun harder against her side and she cried out. “Don’t fuck with me.”

“Fine.” Deacon stopped, his hands out in front of him. “Isn’t this where you recite the reason why you did this?”

“Because you killed my ancestor, Daniel Allsworthy, and eleven other noble men. I am here to avenge them and also carry out their cause. To stop the further corruption of society by animals like you.”

“They were not noble men. They were full of hate and thought nothing of killing innocent people.”

“They only killed freaks and monsters like you!” David screamed, spittle hanging from his lips. “My first target was this abomination of a business Ms. Trent owns, but when I saw she went to you, I did my homework. And then I saw you at Sanctuary, practically fucking each other on the dance floor and I knew I could bring you down at the same time. She was the icing, but you were the cake.” He hauled her closer, his finger pulling back on the trigger. “I get to see you watch her die and then I’m going to kill you.”

“That seems excessive. Kill me. Torture me.” Deacon lowered his voice, his attempt at trying to calm David a valiant try but a failure. “You can take me. Do whatever you want, and I swear I won’t fight you.”

“I wouldn’t trust the word of a creature like you.” David shook his head, digging the gun even deeper into her side, and she cried out. “I want to see you suffer.”

Deacon moved then, his eyes lowered to the gun; they shot up to meet her own and she saw it in his eyes, the truth of what was about to happen. He wasn’t going to be able to save her this time.

It was as he’d feared—she was too vulnerable, too fragile. And like most humans, she’d squandered what little time she had with the man she loved over things that didn’t matter in the end. Her anger burned away like morning fog and now she saw it all so clearly. Too late. Too late to forgive him, to move on.

Soldiers had told her they didn’t feel the bullet enter their body; they only recalled the sting of pain afterward when adrenaline and shock could no longer cut off the transmittals to their nerve endings.

It was bullshit.

The bullet tore into her skin with a slash of finely edged pain. It then tunneled through her muscle and organs with white-hot intensity that bloomed like fire in her belly. She clawed at her skin, desperate to put out the flames, but nothing worked. She was burning. She was dying.

Her body went into free fall as David dropped her to the floor. She gasped at the impact, her throat raw and hurting, and she realized she was screaming. Cici clamped a hand over her mouth, refusing to give in like that—she would not give David the satisfaction—but her hand slid, slick and wet across her skin.

Confused, she pulled back and looked down at her palm and saw the blood. So much blood. She pressed her hands to the wound site, crying out at the blood pumping through her fingers, onto the floor, and taking with it every ounce of warmth in her body. She was so cold.

Falling onto her back, she gritted her teeth against the harsh chatter and turned her head to see Deacon knock the gun from David’s hand and pin him to the ground with a hand around his throat. David clawed at his hand. Choking. Eyes bulging.

Deacon raised his gun and pressed the muzzle against David’s forehead.

“Go to hell,” David spat.

“I can’t die, asshole,” Deacon growled.

The trigger pulled back. The loud explosion cut through the residual ringing in her ears and added another layer of pain to her agony. The back of David’s head blew out and he stopped struggling, eyes vacant and staring at her.

She turned away. She’d see him again soon enough.

“Cici. Fuck. Sweetheart.” Deacon scrambled over to her and she knew he was lifting her onto his lap, but she couldn’t feel him. She couldn’t feel anything anymore. The pain was a memory. She wasn’t even cold. “Oh my God. All the blood. Andy, get the fuck in here right now!”

His anguish was palpable and she wanted to comfort him. Cici reached up to touch him, leaving wet streaks of her blood on his skin, in his hair. Deacon put his wrist to his mouth and bit down hard, the groan of pain from his vicious cut wrenched out from his chest. His lips and mouth were covered in blood when he stopped sucking; it ran down his chin and dripped onto his shirt.

She closed her eyes. There was too much blood. She didn’t want to see it anymore.

“Cici, open your eyes. You need to drink,” he said, pressing his wrist against her lips.

She batted him away.
No more blood. Just let me go
. Cici wished he’d leave her alone. She was warm now and just wanted to let the heat and light pull her down.

“Fuck, Cici. Drink.” He mashed his arm against her mouth, cursing again when she resisted. He stopped forcing her, pulling her closer to his chest. He was trembling. His chest heaving from huge, sobbing gasps. He was hurting so she opened her eyes when he asked again. “I
cannot
live in a world where you do not exist. Do you hear me? I cannot.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips and she tried to return it, but she didn’t have the energy. “I have only asked you for one thing in all the time we’ve known each other. One thing. I asked you to marry me and you said yes.” He kissed her again, this one a quick, fervent press of lips filled with his anger and pain. “But you broke that promise and broke me at the same time. So you owe me, Felicity Trent. You owe me another yes and I’m calling it in today. I’ll get out of your life. I’ll leave you alone, but you’ve got to drink.” He shook her a little, his fingers digging into her shoulders. “You
owe
me.”

His eyes were full of pain, fear, and desperation and she could not say no. She loved him. She was angry with him and hated his lies, but she also couldn’t face not having the time to work it out. She didn’t just owe him. She owed it to herself to fight for the love she’d been looking for her entire existence.

When he gently pressed his wrist to her mouth the next time, she drank. The taste of blood as a human so different, so coppery and strange that she gagged a little at first. But she kept her eyes on Deacon’s face and gradually she drew harder and harder, gulping down the liquid in an attempt to quench a thirst that quickly consumed her.

The change was not gradual. There was pain again, so sharp she released her hold on his arm, her back arched and taut as a bow. Cici clawed at her throat, desperate for air, loud gasping cries torn from her as her airway closed up little by little until everything went black.

She never lost total consciousness. She slid along the periphery between the here and the not here, using Deacon as her anchor as her heartbeat slowed, and eventually stopped beating. It was quicker than she imagined it would be. The first time took such an agonizingly slow journey through the First Phase that she was surprised when her fangs descended and she sat up.

No pain.

She lifted her shirt and smeared away the blood on her stomach. There was no wound. Not even a scar. She was dead. Again.

Deacon still sat beside her, his eyes raking over her face as if he was memorizing her features. He lifted a hand, reaching for her, but stalled in midair, letting it drop to his lap. For the first time since she’d known him, he looked as if he didn’t know what to do and his helplessness spurred her into action.

Cici launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and lowering her mouth to his. Deacon was slow to respond, his body stiff with shock, but he quickly joined in, his tongue thrusting inside to claim her, his hands digging through her hair, grabbing two handfuls and holding her head in place for his carnal assault. Cici crawled into his lap, reveling in the press of his hard body against her own. It was arousing. It was comforting. It was home. She never wanted to let him go.

They broke the kiss.

Deacon touched her cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes soft and glowing amber. “I love you, always have. Always will. Remember that.”

“I was hoping you’d be around to remind me.”

“I…” He faltered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Just remember.”

Cici started to question his weird answer when he swayed forward, his body convulsing as if he was having a seizure.

“Oh my God!” She eased him down to the floor, watching helplessly as he writhed on the ground, his eyes rolled back in his head, fists clenched tight. “Somebody! Help!”

Andy burst into the room, gun drawn. He swept the area, gaze quickly moving from Mya, to David’s body, and then to Deacon.

“What the fuck?” He holstered his weapon and rushed over, falling to his knees beside Deacon, who’d gone perfectly still. He ran his hands over his body, checking him out for injury. “What the fuck happened to him?”

“I don’t know.” Cici had to swallow hard to get past the cold rock of fear lodged in her throat. “I fed from him and then he—”

“You fed from him?”

“Yes.” She bared her fangs at him. “It worked. I’m cured.”

Andy’s face crumpled, his fists coming down against the floor in an angry outburst. “Goddamn it.”

Ice settled on her chest, dread spreading out from there like a rash.

“What’s going on?” She leaned over Deacon, shaking him, prodding him. “Deacon, look at me. Come on, baby, you’re scaring me. Deacon!”

His eyes were open, lifeless, no spark in them at all. His body was lax, completely unresponsive. It was as if he was dead, but that couldn’t be true. She looked up at Andy.

“Andy, what’s wrong with him?”

He stared at her, his face grim and then softening with pity. She backed up. She didn’t want pity because that would mean…

“He’s returned to the Ash. He’s dead.”

“No.”

“Cici.”

“No. He would have told me.” She pointed up to Andy, hands still slick with her own blood. A spark of anger mixing with the pain clawing its way through the shock. “You fucking should have
told
me.”

“I didn’t know until tonight. He made me swear not to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” She closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of this nightmare. Andy said nothing, the silence giving her mind a chance to go to the darkest places while her heart followed the slow, agonizing descent. She opened her eyes, reaching out to touch Deacon’s face, her hands leaving behind a streak of blood on the sharp edge of his cheekbone. Cici gently rubbed the stain on his skin, her hands shaking so badly it wasn’t doing any good. “Fuck. I need to wash–”

Andy knelt beside her, reaching out to grab her hands, but she pulled away. The last thing she wanted was his touch, his warmth. She wanted Deacon. She needed
his
touch and the thought that she would spend eternity never having it broke something deep inside her. Pain sliced through her middle, almost doubling her over with the impact.

“Fuck you!” Cici pushed at Andy’s chest, frustration joining the anger roiling in her gut when he didn’t even budge. She shoved him again, this time using more of her vampire strength to rock him on his heels. She hurt and she wanted him to feel it, too, to buckle under the weight of it. He corrected quickly, maintaining his position close to her, his demeanor protective in spite of her vitriol. “You should have stopped him, Andy. This is on you.”

“I didn’t know,” Andy said, pain and pity twisting his expression into something that brought tears to her eyes. “He was my
best friend
.”