The Undead in My Bed (Dark Ones #10.6)

The Undead in My Bed (Dark Ones #10.6) Page 41

I gasped, then raced for the alley.

Two men fought there, and I saw Michael slug a guy in a polo shirt. The other man reeled at the hit. Michael growled low in his throat—strange how sexy I found that sound—and pounced on the man.

Irritation flashed through me. Was he taking out some hapless passerby in an alley out of a pissy fit of temper, or worse, because he was thirsty? I put my hands on my hips and tapped my foot. “Michael, this is so not cool.”

Michael whirled around, and his eyes were so dark that for a moment, I thought there was something wrong with him. A hypodermic needle was sticking out of the side of his neck, and he yanked it out and tossed it to the ground. He staggered forward a step and raised a hand out to me. “Get out of here, Ruby,” he said in low, angry growl. “Leave!”

Behind him, the man leaped onto Michael’s back and pushed another hypodermic into his throat. Michael shuddered, his eyes rolling back in their sockets, and he collapsed to the ground. The smell of thick garlic filled the air.

I took a step forward. “What the hell is going on?”

The man crouching over Michael stood. He was tall, with broad shoulders, a scruffy beard, and cuts on his face from where Michael’s fists had clearly done some damage. A dark sleeve of tattoos covered each of his arms. This didn’t seem like a botched feeding.

“What are you doing?” I asked, approaching.

He stepped in front of Michael’s sprawled form. “Collecting a bounty. Move along.”

“Bounty?”

“You need to mind your own business, lady. Move along,” he repeated, cracking his knuckles in a menacing way.

I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I should stop you.”

“Now, sweetie,” he said, staring condescendingly down at me. “I’d hate for you to break a nail on one of your cute little hands.”

Oh, was that how it was going to be? I moved forward, letting my eyes flash with moonlight like a cat’s.

Recognition dawned on his face, along with a slow, evil smile that showed a pair of extremely long fangs. “What are you, a were-bunny? I’ve never tasted one. Tonight might be the night.”

God damn it, why did everyone think I was a were-bunny? I dropped my purse onto the ground and began to unbutton the front of my dress, letting the change ripple through my insides. “Try again.”

“Were-kitten?” he said with a leer as I dropped my nice new dress to the ground and stepped out of it, then my shoes. “Or maybe a cute little were—”

The words choked in his throat as I dropped to all fours and black-and-gold-spotted fur sprouted all over my body. My lashing tail distended immediately, and thick, curving claws grew from my fingertips. My teeth elongated and extended into sharp predator teeth. My shoulders hunched low, my hips sliding back to adjust for powerful hindquarters.

“Oh, fuck,” he swore under his breath.

And there it is, I thought smugly. Then the change fully overtook me, and my thought became of nothing but my jaguar until the transformation was done. When I opened my eyes and took a prowling step forward, he bolted down the alley.

My inner cat went wild. I gave a chuffing little cry and sprang after him. As he raced down the alley I swiped at his back, toying with him. He yelped as my claws ripped his shirt open, exposing a back full of more tattoos. I sped up, nipping at his heels. I could break his neck and play with him, spring onto his back and sink my teeth into the fragile bones at the base of his head. A broken neck wouldn’t kill a vampire, but it’d be really fun to see the fear in his eyes as he realized he’d be mine to play with and destroy at my leisure.

Sometimes there was a big upside to being an apex predator, I thought with a gleeful rush.

A groan sounded behind me, and I skidded to a halt, flattening my ears, listening for another breath of sound.

The tattooed man sensed my distraction and sped up, heading toward traffic.

I could still catch him. If he got toward one of the main streets, I’d have no choice but to abandon the hunt. A big cat roaming downtown Fort Worth? Kinda noticeable. But he wasn’t faster than me. I could still spring on him, knock him to his back, snap his neck—

The groan sounded again. Michael. I gave another chuffing cry of anger and turned back toward him.

I’d deal with that tattooed vampire later. I had his scent now, and I’d be able to pick up his trail if he didn’t get into a car.

I padded to Michael’s side and placed my damp nose against his skin. Flushed with heat. That wasn’t good for a vampire. The garlic must have given him a fever.

I touched him with the tip of my tongue. He was still unconscious, his hair spilling over his forehead and sticking to his skin in sweaty spikes. His eyelids fluttered rapidly, his breath rasping, quick, and shallow.

I nudged him. He didn’t move. Another low moan escaped his throat. He was in pain, and my heart clenched in response.

Shit. I couldn’t leave him there. What if humans found him? I couldn’t take him to the local Alliance doc; he only treated shifters. And if one vampire was looking for him, there might be more. If I left his side, he’d be vulnerable.

I looked at Michael’s big body, slumped on the concrete. I could probably carry him in my human form, but that would draw too much attention, given our sizes. Maybe I could find someplace safe nearby. Then I could leave him and scout out the area.

The vampire couldn’t have gotten far, and I wanted to know what exactly this “bounty” was about.

I dragged Michael a short way and then got him onto my back—no mean trick without hands, let me tell you. It wasn’t easy keeping him balanced there, and he was probably going to have knuckles full of gravel when he woke up from his hands dragging on the ground, but I made it a few blocks away from the restaurant. My progress was slow, but I knew the area well. With some creative thinking, it wasn’t too hard to keep out of sight, going down alleys, cutting through overpasses, and keeping to the shadows. I was spotted once or twice, but most people rubbed their eyes and stared, not believing the sight. There might be some odd calls to the police, but I’d be long gone by the time a patrol car got there.

I kept my head low, looking for a safe place to bunk down and check out Michael’s injuries. My night vision showed me a massive, looming building in the distance. The old abandoned meatpacking plant. It sat in the heart of Fort Worth, a ghastly eyesore that was only opened up at Halloween to run a haunted house.

I circled around to the back of the building, where the shadows were heavier, and dropped Michael off in a dark corner. I paced around the side of the immensely long structure, examining the rows of windows. I had no idea how protected the building was. If there was security, we’d be toast.

Well, there was only one way to find out. I flung my jaguar body through a lower window and waited.

No alarms. Perfect. I jumped back out the window again, shifted quickly to my human form, cleared the glass, and proceeded to shove Michael through the window.

Haunted-house props littered the bottom floor, so I carried Michael deeper in until there was nothing but broken equipment and storage crap, all covered in a thick layer of dust. I laid him in the corner of the room behind a couple of empty cable spools. He was still—too still. I hesitated, then forced myself to get up. I had to make sure he was safe first.

Since I’d carried him through the old warehouse and through most of the city, anyone looking for him wouldn’t find his scent unless they were practically upon him. That was good. I dragged props and crates around him, making a small fortress to protect him. He’d be safe there, as long as we hadn’t been followed.

In case we had been followed, I transformed back to my shifter form and paced through the inside of the old plant, leaving a scent trail that crossed and crisscrossed itself to confuse any trackers. Vampires couldn’t track by scent, but I didn’t trust anything to chance. Then, when Michael was as protected as I could make him, I slipped out the window and headed back toward the alley. I needed my dress, and I needed to scout the area for answers.

The alley was choked with the thick, spicy scent of the tattooed vampire, who had indeed returned. I clung to the shadows, my tail twitching as I watched my prey.

The vampire had a phone raised to his ear, and he squatted to pick up my dress. “You didn’t tell me he was with a big goddamn shifter,” Tattoos said.

“I didn’t know. He must be getting desperate for blood,” said the voice on the phone. “Angelo’s got him on the run. Serves him right.”

Tattoos snorted. “It’s not his fault Mariah’s so hot for him.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the phone voice said curtly. “Angelo still wants him dead. You said the shifter ran off with him? See if she’s abandoned him nearby. Look for clues.”

“I’m not Scooby-Doo,” Tattoos muttered, pulling a gun out of the waistband of his jeans and glaring down the alley.

A gun? Damn. I sprang away, climbing up a nearby awning and then jumping to the top of a building. I circled back to the abandoned warehouse slowly, thinking hard. Someone named Angelo wanted Michael dead. What was I supposed to do with that information?

I slipped back into the warehouse and padded to where I’d left Michael. His scent was thick and strong, mixed with garlic. It made the spice in his vampire scent turn sour and wrong. Garlic was a poison for the undead, and Michael had gotten a massive dose.

He was delirious and weak, his eyelids fluttering as I crouched next to him and shifted back to my human form. I leaned over him and pressed my fingers to his forehead, gauging his temperature. Still hot and damp with sweat. What was I supposed to do with a sick vampire?

Michael’s eyes opened, so green they almost glowed in his flushed face. To my surprise, he reached out and gently touched his fingers against my cheek, then traced my jaw.

“Dreamed of this,” he murmured. “So beautiful.”

Then his eyelids fluttered shut, and he went limp, leaving me alone, naked, and very, very confused.

Chapter Three

Throughout the night, Michael twitched and shivered, caught up in the throes of the poison. I could smell garlic seeping from his pores as he sweated, delirious.