Vampire Dawn
Chapter Thirty-five
We were cuddling in front of an 80-inch Sharp flat screen TV, which was a little like cuddling in front of a portal into the fourth dimension.
The room was also equipped with surround sound speakers which made the sound seem to magically appear as if from nowhere. To this day, I haven't a clue where those speakers are embedded. Most important, the room came equipped, at least part time, with a beast of a man who, despite his size, was a helluva cuddler.
We were cuddling and watching Matt Damon's latest spy thriller when Kingsley turned to me and asked, "Would you like a drink?"
If he was offering wine or water, he would have said wine or water. Drink was Kingsley-speak for a very different kind of red stuff: blood.
I sat up, reached for the remote, and paused the movie.
"It's really a simple yes-or-no question, Sam," he said good-naturedly. Kingsley was wearing a t-shirt and workout pants, and both were filled to capacity. It took a lot of man to fill out an oversized pair of workout pants, but somehow Kingsley managed to do it. He also smelled of Old Spice. Simple. Manly. Yummy.
I turned to him. "May I first ask where you got your drink?"
He rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Sam. I thought we discussed that."
"No. You gave me a song and dance about vampires using various willing and unwilling donors. So, tell me, was this a willing donor? I think I have a right to know who I'm consuming, don't you think?"
He turned and looked at me, his thick hair following over one shoulder. "Boy, I didn't see this coming."
Truth was, I didn't either. At least, I hoped it wouldn't. I knew there was a killer out there supplying blood, and I knew my current boyfriend purchased blood from...someone.
"If not tonight," I said. "Then another night. I need to know."
On the wall before us, Matt Damon used some impressive fight moves - and a lot of editing - to kick the unholy crap out of a spy that looked remarkably like a popular Hollywood star. In the kitchen nearby, I heard Franklin the butler humming to himself. Kingsley's resident freak had a surprisingly sweet voice.
Kingsley said, "I buy the blood from a trusted supplier."
I couldn't read the mind of another immortal, but I didn't need to be a mind-reader to know who he was talking about. I said, "Detective Hanner."
His lower jaw dropped a little. For a man who was legendary for keeping his cool, this statement caught him by surprise. And it was all the admission I needed.
"How long has she been supplying you?" I asked.
He cracked his neck a little. Clearly uncomfortable. So much for openness in a relationship. "A number of years, Sam. I normally keep only a small amount on hand."
"And here's the million-dollar question, babe," I said. "Where does Hanner get her blood?"
"Donors."
"Willing donors?"
"Jesus, Sam. You're closer friends with her than I am these days. You tell me."
I shook my head. "You've known her a lot longer. Hell, you're even a customer."
Kingsley stood in one motion, so quickly that it boggled the mind. One smooth motion. Like a spring being sprung. "Look, Sam. I'm not keeping anything from you. It's just that your kind and my kind don't generally discuss this topic."
"The topic of blood?"
"Right."
"It's taboo," I said.
"Sam, we all have skeletons in our closets. Especially us." By "us," I knew he was talking about creatures of the night. "I have them, you have them. We all have them. We couldn't exist without collecting them."
"So, what's your point?"
"We don't dig too deeply into each other's lives, Sam. Dig deep enough into mine and you might not like what you find. And if I dig deep enough into yours, even in the short time you've been a vampire, I might not like what I find, either."
"So you just stick your head in the sand?"
"Sometimes, it's best not to know, Sam."
I shook my head. "Real people are getting killed out there. Real people with lives and families and hopes and dreams. Slaughtered for blood. It's not right."
"Of course it's not right." He put his hand on my knee. "Let it go, Sam, okay? She's not a killer. She's one of us."
I did not let it go. Could not let it go. The rest of the Matt Damon movie was lost on me, and as I absently watched the fight scenes, the chase scenes, and the bevy of cute buns, all I could think about was one person.
Detective Hanner.
The room was also equipped with surround sound speakers which made the sound seem to magically appear as if from nowhere. To this day, I haven't a clue where those speakers are embedded. Most important, the room came equipped, at least part time, with a beast of a man who, despite his size, was a helluva cuddler.
We were cuddling and watching Matt Damon's latest spy thriller when Kingsley turned to me and asked, "Would you like a drink?"
If he was offering wine or water, he would have said wine or water. Drink was Kingsley-speak for a very different kind of red stuff: blood.
I sat up, reached for the remote, and paused the movie.
"It's really a simple yes-or-no question, Sam," he said good-naturedly. Kingsley was wearing a t-shirt and workout pants, and both were filled to capacity. It took a lot of man to fill out an oversized pair of workout pants, but somehow Kingsley managed to do it. He also smelled of Old Spice. Simple. Manly. Yummy.
I turned to him. "May I first ask where you got your drink?"
He rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Sam. I thought we discussed that."
"No. You gave me a song and dance about vampires using various willing and unwilling donors. So, tell me, was this a willing donor? I think I have a right to know who I'm consuming, don't you think?"
He turned and looked at me, his thick hair following over one shoulder. "Boy, I didn't see this coming."
Truth was, I didn't either. At least, I hoped it wouldn't. I knew there was a killer out there supplying blood, and I knew my current boyfriend purchased blood from...someone.
"If not tonight," I said. "Then another night. I need to know."
On the wall before us, Matt Damon used some impressive fight moves - and a lot of editing - to kick the unholy crap out of a spy that looked remarkably like a popular Hollywood star. In the kitchen nearby, I heard Franklin the butler humming to himself. Kingsley's resident freak had a surprisingly sweet voice.
Kingsley said, "I buy the blood from a trusted supplier."
I couldn't read the mind of another immortal, but I didn't need to be a mind-reader to know who he was talking about. I said, "Detective Hanner."
His lower jaw dropped a little. For a man who was legendary for keeping his cool, this statement caught him by surprise. And it was all the admission I needed.
"How long has she been supplying you?" I asked.
He cracked his neck a little. Clearly uncomfortable. So much for openness in a relationship. "A number of years, Sam. I normally keep only a small amount on hand."
"And here's the million-dollar question, babe," I said. "Where does Hanner get her blood?"
"Donors."
"Willing donors?"
"Jesus, Sam. You're closer friends with her than I am these days. You tell me."
I shook my head. "You've known her a lot longer. Hell, you're even a customer."
Kingsley stood in one motion, so quickly that it boggled the mind. One smooth motion. Like a spring being sprung. "Look, Sam. I'm not keeping anything from you. It's just that your kind and my kind don't generally discuss this topic."
"The topic of blood?"
"Right."
"It's taboo," I said.
"Sam, we all have skeletons in our closets. Especially us." By "us," I knew he was talking about creatures of the night. "I have them, you have them. We all have them. We couldn't exist without collecting them."
"So, what's your point?"
"We don't dig too deeply into each other's lives, Sam. Dig deep enough into mine and you might not like what you find. And if I dig deep enough into yours, even in the short time you've been a vampire, I might not like what I find, either."
"So you just stick your head in the sand?"
"Sometimes, it's best not to know, Sam."
I shook my head. "Real people are getting killed out there. Real people with lives and families and hopes and dreams. Slaughtered for blood. It's not right."
"Of course it's not right." He put his hand on my knee. "Let it go, Sam, okay? She's not a killer. She's one of us."
I did not let it go. Could not let it go. The rest of the Matt Damon movie was lost on me, and as I absently watched the fight scenes, the chase scenes, and the bevy of cute buns, all I could think about was one person.
Detective Hanner.
