Vampire Most Wanted
Page 8
As she entered the RV, Divine flipped on the lights. Memories of the last time she’d entered slipped through her mind. She also recalled getting hit over the head outside the door to the bedroom and moved into the next section of the RV, flipping on that light too. Not that she needed it to see the dried blood on the wall, door, and floor.
Divine took a deep breath as she peered at it, and then moved into her bedroom to fetch fresh clothes from the closet. She headed into the compact bathroom next to shower. There wasn’t much time to get ready. It was exactly three minutes before noon when she stepped under the shower; two minutes later she was out and pulling on her clothes. She towel-dried her hair, dropped the towel, and put the damp strands up in a ponytail as she walked back through the RV.
Snagging the A-frame sign from its resting spot beside the door as she went outside, Divine set it up on the dirt next to her steps and then glanced at her watch: 12:01. One minute late. Not bad, she decided, and peered along the midway to see that people were just starting to filter through the gate. Relaxing, she started to turn back to her door, her eyes sliding over and then pausing on Marcus. He was standing under an awning by the Tilt-A-Whirl controls, staring at her.
Divine finished her turn and went inside, leaving the door open so that she could see when the first customer arrived. She then settled in her chair facing the door to wait for another long day to begin. While they had been open from noon to midnight the day before, it was now Friday. They would be open until 2 A.M., and tomorrow they would be open from 10 A.M. to midnight. Sunday they would start at noon and close at six. Even so, it would be the longest day. Once the gates closed they would start tear-down. They’d pack up the carnival, which would take four to six hours, and then they’d drive to the next town on their schedule.
Divine couldn’t remember the name of the town, but what she did remember was that it was a six-hour drive from Bakersfield. Even so, they wouldn’t get to rest then, but would immediately have to set up all over again. If they were lucky they’d get done in time to catch a couple of hours sleep before opening, but sometimes they didn’t. Truly, a lot of people bad-talked carnies, but they were some of the hardest-working people she’d ever encountered.
Her gaze found Marcus through the open door. He was still at the panel, but Chapman was with him now, no doubt giving him last-minute instructions.
Divine bit her lip. She had three days to convince Marcus that she wasn’t Basha, or she suspected he’d follow them to the next town. Perhaps she needed to make up a fake backstory, a history and explanation for her being with the carnival. It would mean claiming a clan, and that could be checked though.
Alternately, she could claim she was turned by a rogue some centuries back and had fled before doing anything rogue herself. She’d have to name a rogue though, and give the name of a mortal with a birth date from the time she chose to back it up. They could always check on her stories.
Divine sighed and rubbed one hand along the side of her head. It was still throbbing a little, which meant the healing was still taking place. The major damage was taken care of, her skull repaired and reknitted into place and the majority of her brain obviously back in working order or she wouldn’t be walking and talking. Now, she supposed the little arteries and bits of tissue and synapses were being repaired. Her body would be using blood like crazy to manage the task. She would need blood again soon.
“Hello?”
Divine glanced to the door and offered a smile of greeting. Her first customer had arrived.
Six
“You’re a star, kid!” Chapman announced as he stopped at the Tilt-A-Whirl next to Marcus. “You handled the Tilter like you’ve worked it for years. And handled the kids like a pop star too. They were eating out of your hand. Never had a Friday night go by without some kind of push and shove war, or flat-out fights break out over girls or line cutters. Yes sirree, kid, you’re a star.”
Marcus straightened from collecting the empty cotton candy cones and disposable drink glasses that had been dropped carelessly around the Tilt-A-Whirl and smiled wryly at Chapman. He was often called kid, son, or young man by people in their forties or fifties and up. He was no longer surprised by it, but it still felt like he was being talked down to and it rankled a bit. “Thank you. Glad you are happy.”
“Happy? Hell!” Chapman shook his head and spat into the dirt. “How would you like a full-time job and come with us when we leave here?”
“What about Stan?” Marcus asked mildly.
“Stan,” Chapman murmured on a sigh and scrubbed the back of his head with agitation. “Seems that scrap Stan got himself into in town wasn’t a fight so much as a shoving match. He shoved harder, the other guy fell back and broke his neck on the bottom rung of a bar stool. Dead before he hit the floor.” He let his hand drop wearily to his side. “Stan’s been charged with manslaughter. He ain’t gonna be available for a while.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Marcus said quietly. He’d seen too many stupid accidents like that happen over the centuries to be surprised by it.
“Yeah, so am I,” Chapman said quietly, staring at the ground and shaking his head. “Stan’s not a bad guy, and from what I hear the other guy started it. Didn’t like a carnie talking to a local girl and decided to intervene, started shoving Stan around and when he shoved back—” He shrugged. Straightening, he shook his head again as if shaking off the thought of Stan’s fate and turned away. “Well, you think on it. You have a job if you want to travel.”
“I’ll think about it,” Marcus murmured, watching the man walk away looking tired and defeated. The sound of a screen door opening drew his gaze to the side to see Divine ushering a young woman out of her RV.
“Thank you so much,” the brunette was saying earnestly as Divine walked her down the steps.
“You’re welcome,” Divine said solemnly, pausing at the foot of the steps. “I hope everything works out for you.”
“Thank you,” the woman repeated, and then hurried away. Divine watched until the customer was halfway up the darkening midway, and then turned to pick up her A-frame sign.
Marcus frowned as he noted how pale she was, and that there were lines of pain around her mouth and eyes. It reminded him of the blood he’d found in her RV and the dried blood she’d had on her clothes and in her hair earlier. She’d obviously been injured at some point in the night, and judging by the amount of blood that had been in the RV, badly. She might even yet still be healing from it; he couldn’t be sure. But he was quite sure she was in serious need of blood . . . and she didn’t have any. He’d gone over that RV from stem to stern and not found anything but a small bar fridge with some old cream in it, presumably for those occasions when Madge came by for coffee.
Moving to the nearest trash bin, Marcus disposed of the garbage he’d gathered while waiting for Chapman to come tell him he could knock off. He then headed for the back lot where his SUV was now parked. He’d moved it there on his break. Finding the blood in her RV and seeing it on her had convinced him that it might be best to be close at hand, at least until he found out what had happened. Which meant he’d be sleeping in his SUV. It was probably for the best, he acknowledged. Staying at the hotel might raise suspicion among the carnies. No one on their wages could afford a motel room let alone a hotel. He wouldn’t get any information at all if they were all suspicious and leery about him, so staying here had seemed the better choice.
Several people called out greetings as he passed and Marcus responded politely, but didn’t slow. At his SUV he made sure no one was looking, then climbed in the back, unlocked the built-in fridge, and retrieved several bags of blood. He stuffed them inside his shirt, grimaced at how obvious it was he had something in there, and then tugged on the leather jacket he’d used as a pillow last night. It was too damned hot for the jacket, but the leather at least made the bulge in his shirt less obvious. Still, he moved quickly as he locked up and left the SUV, sticking to the shadows as much as possible on his way back to Divine’s RV.
He knocked once on her door, but—afraid she’d turn him away—Marcus didn’t wait for her to answer. He pulled the door open and stepped inside, barely ducking in time to avoid the mop that came swinging at his head.
“Whoa. It’s me,” he said quickly, holding up a hand as he straightened. Good thing he did too, or he would have taken the mop in the face. Damn, the woman was fast. “Divine, it’s me, Marco.”
“And what the hell makes you think that makes it okay to break into my RV?” she asked dryly, this time doing the unexpected and ramming the end of her mop into his groin.
Marcus’s breath left him on a sound he didn’t think he’d ever made before. It came out a whooshing “eeeee-iiiiii-owwwww” and ended on a howl. He also dropped the bags of blood in favor of cupping his screaming ge**tals with one hand while grabbing the mop with the other to ensure she didn’t do that again. He needn’t have worried, Divine’s hands had gone lax on the mop, her attention fixed on what he’d dropped.
“What the devil is that?” she asked with dismay, staring at the clear bags of dark crimson fluid lying on the floor of her RV.
“They’re for you,” Marcus muttered through gritted teeth. Damnnnn, the woman had nearly unmanned him . . . and the blow had hurt enough that he’d nearly passed out. He still might do so. Immortal women were stronger than mortal women, or mortal men for that matter, and she hadn’t held back. It was all he could do not to cross his legs and hop around continuously howling like a sissy boy. Alternately, he wanted to rip his pants down and see if his balls were still intact. He suspected she’d crushed at least one of them with her blow, popping it like a balloon in his jeans.
That thought made Marcus cast a reluctant glance down. He groaned when he saw the blood beginning to blossom at his groin. Dammit, the woman had unmanned him.
“Well, what on earth do you expect me to do with these?” Divine asked, bending to pick up one of the bags and peer at it with distaste.
Marcus snatched it from her hand and slammed it to his mouth almost before his fangs had finished extending.
She stared at him wide-eyed as the bag quickly began to shrink. When the last drop of blood had been sucked up through his fangs into his body, he pulled the shriveled bag away with a gasp of pain and turned away to bang his forehead against the wall and then lean there trying to ignore the new pain now centered at his groin as the nanos in his blood began to make repairs. Damn, the fix was almost worse than the damage had felt when she’d hit him. Correction, he thought grimly, trying not to gnash his teeth. It was worse, because the blow had taken only a moment and the repairs were going to take much longer.
“Crap,” Marcus groaned, pressing his forehead harder into the wall to try to distract himself from the pain in his lower regions. He followed that up with a lovely string of curses in both Italian and English that ended on an “Ah hell,” when the world blurred around him and he felt himself sliding toward the floor and unconsciousness. It seemed the cure was going to knock him out where the actual blow hadn’t.
Divine watched Marcus sprawl on her floor and sighed with exasperation. She really needed to control her temper. While she’d been annoyed that he would enter before she’d given him permission, all she’d managed to do was make more work for herself.
Clucking under her tongue, she shook her head, set aside the mop, and then squatted to turn the man over. He was white as a sheet, she saw, but didn’t understand why until she gave him the once-over and noted the bloodstain around his groin.
“Oh damn,” Divine muttered, guilt sliding through her. She hadn’t meant to do real damage, just teach him a lesson about entering other people’s homes without permission. Unfortunately, she used her strength so rarely that Divine forgot just how strong she was. This wasn’t the first time she’d done more damage than intended. She’d once tossed a grandson through a wall when all she’d meant to do was slam him up against it. But she hadn’t felt too bad about that. It had been Rufus, who she suspected didn’t follow her rules about feeding. He was a mouthy piece of work, always sneering at the “stupidity and weakness of mortals.” She’d heard him more than once declare they were stupid cattle and deserved to be slaughtered. He knew she hated it when he said things like that. She hated that he even thought like that, and blamed herself for it.
Divine didn’t spend a lot of time around her son and his sons. She hadn’t since he became a man and struck out on his own. She had visited with him more often at first. She’d even raised several of his boys in the early centuries when the birth mother didn’t want to be bothered, but had found it too heart-wrenching when one or another of them had been caught by one of Uncle Lucian’s scouts and killed. It had actually been a relief when Damian had stopped asking her to raise them.
The last time she’d spent more than a half hour or so with Damian had been when she’d had to rescue him from Uncle Lucian up in Canada. She’d moved as quickly as she could when she’d got the message from Abaddon that her son might need her. Fortunately, the carnival she’d been traveling with at the time had been in Michigan and she’d got to Toronto quickly enough. She’d checked into a hotel and had immediately tried to contact Damian. When she hadn’t been able to reach him, she’d reluctantly tried to contact Abaddon with no success. She’d paced her hotel room for two days, trying repeatedly to reach either of the men. Just as she was about to give up and head back to Michigan, Abaddon had called in a panic. He’d told her Leo was holed up in a hotel in downtown Toronto and Lucian and his men were there searching for him.
Divine took a deep breath as she peered at it, and then moved into her bedroom to fetch fresh clothes from the closet. She headed into the compact bathroom next to shower. There wasn’t much time to get ready. It was exactly three minutes before noon when she stepped under the shower; two minutes later she was out and pulling on her clothes. She towel-dried her hair, dropped the towel, and put the damp strands up in a ponytail as she walked back through the RV.
Snagging the A-frame sign from its resting spot beside the door as she went outside, Divine set it up on the dirt next to her steps and then glanced at her watch: 12:01. One minute late. Not bad, she decided, and peered along the midway to see that people were just starting to filter through the gate. Relaxing, she started to turn back to her door, her eyes sliding over and then pausing on Marcus. He was standing under an awning by the Tilt-A-Whirl controls, staring at her.
Divine finished her turn and went inside, leaving the door open so that she could see when the first customer arrived. She then settled in her chair facing the door to wait for another long day to begin. While they had been open from noon to midnight the day before, it was now Friday. They would be open until 2 A.M., and tomorrow they would be open from 10 A.M. to midnight. Sunday they would start at noon and close at six. Even so, it would be the longest day. Once the gates closed they would start tear-down. They’d pack up the carnival, which would take four to six hours, and then they’d drive to the next town on their schedule.
Divine couldn’t remember the name of the town, but what she did remember was that it was a six-hour drive from Bakersfield. Even so, they wouldn’t get to rest then, but would immediately have to set up all over again. If they were lucky they’d get done in time to catch a couple of hours sleep before opening, but sometimes they didn’t. Truly, a lot of people bad-talked carnies, but they were some of the hardest-working people she’d ever encountered.
Her gaze found Marcus through the open door. He was still at the panel, but Chapman was with him now, no doubt giving him last-minute instructions.
Divine bit her lip. She had three days to convince Marcus that she wasn’t Basha, or she suspected he’d follow them to the next town. Perhaps she needed to make up a fake backstory, a history and explanation for her being with the carnival. It would mean claiming a clan, and that could be checked though.
Alternately, she could claim she was turned by a rogue some centuries back and had fled before doing anything rogue herself. She’d have to name a rogue though, and give the name of a mortal with a birth date from the time she chose to back it up. They could always check on her stories.
Divine sighed and rubbed one hand along the side of her head. It was still throbbing a little, which meant the healing was still taking place. The major damage was taken care of, her skull repaired and reknitted into place and the majority of her brain obviously back in working order or she wouldn’t be walking and talking. Now, she supposed the little arteries and bits of tissue and synapses were being repaired. Her body would be using blood like crazy to manage the task. She would need blood again soon.
“Hello?”
Divine glanced to the door and offered a smile of greeting. Her first customer had arrived.
Six
“You’re a star, kid!” Chapman announced as he stopped at the Tilt-A-Whirl next to Marcus. “You handled the Tilter like you’ve worked it for years. And handled the kids like a pop star too. They were eating out of your hand. Never had a Friday night go by without some kind of push and shove war, or flat-out fights break out over girls or line cutters. Yes sirree, kid, you’re a star.”
Marcus straightened from collecting the empty cotton candy cones and disposable drink glasses that had been dropped carelessly around the Tilt-A-Whirl and smiled wryly at Chapman. He was often called kid, son, or young man by people in their forties or fifties and up. He was no longer surprised by it, but it still felt like he was being talked down to and it rankled a bit. “Thank you. Glad you are happy.”
“Happy? Hell!” Chapman shook his head and spat into the dirt. “How would you like a full-time job and come with us when we leave here?”
“What about Stan?” Marcus asked mildly.
“Stan,” Chapman murmured on a sigh and scrubbed the back of his head with agitation. “Seems that scrap Stan got himself into in town wasn’t a fight so much as a shoving match. He shoved harder, the other guy fell back and broke his neck on the bottom rung of a bar stool. Dead before he hit the floor.” He let his hand drop wearily to his side. “Stan’s been charged with manslaughter. He ain’t gonna be available for a while.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Marcus said quietly. He’d seen too many stupid accidents like that happen over the centuries to be surprised by it.
“Yeah, so am I,” Chapman said quietly, staring at the ground and shaking his head. “Stan’s not a bad guy, and from what I hear the other guy started it. Didn’t like a carnie talking to a local girl and decided to intervene, started shoving Stan around and when he shoved back—” He shrugged. Straightening, he shook his head again as if shaking off the thought of Stan’s fate and turned away. “Well, you think on it. You have a job if you want to travel.”
“I’ll think about it,” Marcus murmured, watching the man walk away looking tired and defeated. The sound of a screen door opening drew his gaze to the side to see Divine ushering a young woman out of her RV.
“Thank you so much,” the brunette was saying earnestly as Divine walked her down the steps.
“You’re welcome,” Divine said solemnly, pausing at the foot of the steps. “I hope everything works out for you.”
“Thank you,” the woman repeated, and then hurried away. Divine watched until the customer was halfway up the darkening midway, and then turned to pick up her A-frame sign.
Marcus frowned as he noted how pale she was, and that there were lines of pain around her mouth and eyes. It reminded him of the blood he’d found in her RV and the dried blood she’d had on her clothes and in her hair earlier. She’d obviously been injured at some point in the night, and judging by the amount of blood that had been in the RV, badly. She might even yet still be healing from it; he couldn’t be sure. But he was quite sure she was in serious need of blood . . . and she didn’t have any. He’d gone over that RV from stem to stern and not found anything but a small bar fridge with some old cream in it, presumably for those occasions when Madge came by for coffee.
Moving to the nearest trash bin, Marcus disposed of the garbage he’d gathered while waiting for Chapman to come tell him he could knock off. He then headed for the back lot where his SUV was now parked. He’d moved it there on his break. Finding the blood in her RV and seeing it on her had convinced him that it might be best to be close at hand, at least until he found out what had happened. Which meant he’d be sleeping in his SUV. It was probably for the best, he acknowledged. Staying at the hotel might raise suspicion among the carnies. No one on their wages could afford a motel room let alone a hotel. He wouldn’t get any information at all if they were all suspicious and leery about him, so staying here had seemed the better choice.
Several people called out greetings as he passed and Marcus responded politely, but didn’t slow. At his SUV he made sure no one was looking, then climbed in the back, unlocked the built-in fridge, and retrieved several bags of blood. He stuffed them inside his shirt, grimaced at how obvious it was he had something in there, and then tugged on the leather jacket he’d used as a pillow last night. It was too damned hot for the jacket, but the leather at least made the bulge in his shirt less obvious. Still, he moved quickly as he locked up and left the SUV, sticking to the shadows as much as possible on his way back to Divine’s RV.
He knocked once on her door, but—afraid she’d turn him away—Marcus didn’t wait for her to answer. He pulled the door open and stepped inside, barely ducking in time to avoid the mop that came swinging at his head.
“Whoa. It’s me,” he said quickly, holding up a hand as he straightened. Good thing he did too, or he would have taken the mop in the face. Damn, the woman was fast. “Divine, it’s me, Marco.”
“And what the hell makes you think that makes it okay to break into my RV?” she asked dryly, this time doing the unexpected and ramming the end of her mop into his groin.
Marcus’s breath left him on a sound he didn’t think he’d ever made before. It came out a whooshing “eeeee-iiiiii-owwwww” and ended on a howl. He also dropped the bags of blood in favor of cupping his screaming ge**tals with one hand while grabbing the mop with the other to ensure she didn’t do that again. He needn’t have worried, Divine’s hands had gone lax on the mop, her attention fixed on what he’d dropped.
“What the devil is that?” she asked with dismay, staring at the clear bags of dark crimson fluid lying on the floor of her RV.
“They’re for you,” Marcus muttered through gritted teeth. Damnnnn, the woman had nearly unmanned him . . . and the blow had hurt enough that he’d nearly passed out. He still might do so. Immortal women were stronger than mortal women, or mortal men for that matter, and she hadn’t held back. It was all he could do not to cross his legs and hop around continuously howling like a sissy boy. Alternately, he wanted to rip his pants down and see if his balls were still intact. He suspected she’d crushed at least one of them with her blow, popping it like a balloon in his jeans.
That thought made Marcus cast a reluctant glance down. He groaned when he saw the blood beginning to blossom at his groin. Dammit, the woman had unmanned him.
“Well, what on earth do you expect me to do with these?” Divine asked, bending to pick up one of the bags and peer at it with distaste.
Marcus snatched it from her hand and slammed it to his mouth almost before his fangs had finished extending.
She stared at him wide-eyed as the bag quickly began to shrink. When the last drop of blood had been sucked up through his fangs into his body, he pulled the shriveled bag away with a gasp of pain and turned away to bang his forehead against the wall and then lean there trying to ignore the new pain now centered at his groin as the nanos in his blood began to make repairs. Damn, the fix was almost worse than the damage had felt when she’d hit him. Correction, he thought grimly, trying not to gnash his teeth. It was worse, because the blow had taken only a moment and the repairs were going to take much longer.
“Crap,” Marcus groaned, pressing his forehead harder into the wall to try to distract himself from the pain in his lower regions. He followed that up with a lovely string of curses in both Italian and English that ended on an “Ah hell,” when the world blurred around him and he felt himself sliding toward the floor and unconsciousness. It seemed the cure was going to knock him out where the actual blow hadn’t.
Divine watched Marcus sprawl on her floor and sighed with exasperation. She really needed to control her temper. While she’d been annoyed that he would enter before she’d given him permission, all she’d managed to do was make more work for herself.
Clucking under her tongue, she shook her head, set aside the mop, and then squatted to turn the man over. He was white as a sheet, she saw, but didn’t understand why until she gave him the once-over and noted the bloodstain around his groin.
“Oh damn,” Divine muttered, guilt sliding through her. She hadn’t meant to do real damage, just teach him a lesson about entering other people’s homes without permission. Unfortunately, she used her strength so rarely that Divine forgot just how strong she was. This wasn’t the first time she’d done more damage than intended. She’d once tossed a grandson through a wall when all she’d meant to do was slam him up against it. But she hadn’t felt too bad about that. It had been Rufus, who she suspected didn’t follow her rules about feeding. He was a mouthy piece of work, always sneering at the “stupidity and weakness of mortals.” She’d heard him more than once declare they were stupid cattle and deserved to be slaughtered. He knew she hated it when he said things like that. She hated that he even thought like that, and blamed herself for it.
Divine didn’t spend a lot of time around her son and his sons. She hadn’t since he became a man and struck out on his own. She had visited with him more often at first. She’d even raised several of his boys in the early centuries when the birth mother didn’t want to be bothered, but had found it too heart-wrenching when one or another of them had been caught by one of Uncle Lucian’s scouts and killed. It had actually been a relief when Damian had stopped asking her to raise them.
The last time she’d spent more than a half hour or so with Damian had been when she’d had to rescue him from Uncle Lucian up in Canada. She’d moved as quickly as she could when she’d got the message from Abaddon that her son might need her. Fortunately, the carnival she’d been traveling with at the time had been in Michigan and she’d got to Toronto quickly enough. She’d checked into a hotel and had immediately tried to contact Damian. When she hadn’t been able to reach him, she’d reluctantly tried to contact Abaddon with no success. She’d paced her hotel room for two days, trying repeatedly to reach either of the men. Just as she was about to give up and head back to Michigan, Abaddon had called in a panic. He’d told her Leo was holed up in a hotel in downtown Toronto and Lucian and his men were there searching for him.
