CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 3 1

JULIANUS

Close call

IT TOOK SEVERAL minutes to get my lust under control. The fact that I hadn't fed from Myra was cause for celebration.

When I was confident I wasn't going to answer the compulsion thrumming through my veins, I rolled over onto my back to catch my breath. Beside me, Myra was doing the same, her erratic pulse hammering against my senses. I shifted to my side and propped up on my elbow, watching the emotions play over her face. She turned to me and offered a satisfied smile.

"That was…"

"Intense," I finished.

She laughed. "I guess I understand now why everyone is so obsessed with sex."

I traced a finger up her chest and over her chin, running it across her lower lip before bending over to replace it with a light kiss. "Well, it's not always like that. You bring out the beast in me."

"The beast? Yeah, I can see that."

The room was growing chilly, now that the heat of our coupling had cooled. I hadn't lit a fire in the room because the cold wasn't that big of a concern for me, but I noticed goosebumps pebbling her flesh. "Come on," I said, sitting up. "Let's get you dressed before you catch pneumonia in this drafty house."

She rubbed her arms and nodded. "It is a little chilly."

I walked over to retrieve her clothes off the floor, handing them to her and turning away so she could get dressed with some sense of privacy since she seemed to have grown shy again. I picked up my suit and draped it over the chair in the corner then pulled a pair of jeans, a tee shirt, and a hoodie out of the wardrobe. When we were both dressed, I led her back downstairs.

"I'm taking you to get something to eat," I insisted. When she opened her mouth to protest, I wrapped my hands around her arms and pulled her close to me. "I don't want to hear any excuses. I can't have you passing out on our way back to your dorm. I know of a small diner where they serve breakfast twenty-four hours a day."

She smiled up at me and nodded. "Okay. It gives me an excuse to spend more time with you."

That's the part that worried me. I hadn't fed yet, and my control was already teetering on the edge. I should have taken her back to her room immediately and gone in search of sustenance, but the episode earlier in the sitting room had me worried about her. It was obvious she didn't pay enough attention to her own well-being .

I led her out of the house and back down the street toward the main road out of town. The diner I had mentioned was about a half mile in the opposite direction of the college. I stopped there occasionally for a cup of coffee after hunting. Food didn't always agree with me, but I still enjoyed the ritual of drinking something besides blood, especially wine, tea, and in recent years, coffee.

There were only a scattering of patrons when we arrived at the diner, and the waitress behind the counter told us to sit anywhere. We found a booth in the back and I plucked up a menu from the stand on the table and handed it to Myra, entreating her to make her choice.

The waitress sauntered over to us with a pot of coffee. I pushed my cup toward her but Myra shook her head. "It's too late in the day for me. Can I have orange juice instead?"

"Order whatever you like," I told her.

She looked up at the waitress. "I'll have a short stack and a small orange juice."

"Just coffee for me," I added.

The waitress wrote the order on her pad then nodded to us. "I'll get that right out to you."

After she was gone Myra folded her hands in front of her and leaned over the table. "You say you come here a lot?"

I shrugged. "Now and then on my way home after being out at night."

She grinned at me. "So what do you do when you go out at night? Do you get drunk, pick up strange girls, get in bar fights?"

"None of the above." I wasn't about to tell her what I really did when I prowled the nighttime streets. I didn't know if I'd ever be comfortable revealing my true nature to her, but this was definitely not that time. Still, she was waiting for a better answer than what I had given her. "I have the occasional glass of wine, maybe a little conversation."

I almost laughed to myself. The only conversation I had with my victims was convincing them they were dreaming while I was seducing them. I didn't think she would find that as amusing as I did.

"Sounds lonely," she replied. "Do you have any friends?"

"Not really."

She nodded. "I guess I can sympathize with that. I'm kind of a loner myself."

"Maybe that's why we fit so well together."

I hadn't really thought about it until now, but maybe that was true. Most of the people I had encountered in this society were constantly in search of gratification of one form or another. Nothing was private with them, and I was a big proponent of privacy. I had to be. That's part of the reason I had chosen my current home. On the hill secluded behind a high hedge at the end of the block. Forbidding to look at, like the house itself discouraged visitors. The only other person besides Myra who had been inside since I'd bought it was the cleaning woman who came once a week to keep it tidy, and I paid her well to mind her own business. Lucky for her, she did.

Myra's food arrived, and she busied herself with eating for a few minutes while I watched her, wondering what exactly I was going to do about her. It was obvious my infatuation had moved beyond simple observation. Now that I'd had a taste of being with her, I wanted more. I just worried my desire for her would lead beyond sex, and I didn't know if I could control myself indefinitely in those situations.

I hadn't killed a victim in decades, and that time was intentional, so I knew I had it in me to meter my thirst. But Myra aroused a passion in me that hadn't been awakened in a long time. It was a dangerous game, and if I intended to keep playing it, I was going to have to ensure I was well-fed before I met with her. How I would accomplish that was the problem. Most of my victims were asleep when I fed off them, which meant it was late at night. I couldn't expect Myra to wait until after midnight to meet with me, so I was kind of stuck.

The only alternative was to use the hookers that plied their trade on the southern end of the bar district. When I'd first come to town years ago, they had been my primary feeding source, but even they'd get suspicious if a girl showed up with neck wounds and blood loss several times a week. I had to feed nightly, and there were only a limited number of prostitutes available. Besides, despite my impromptu coupling with Myra the previous night, I hated having sex in dirty alleys. The risk of discovery was too great, especially if something went wrong. And as much as I tried to be careful, that was always the chance I took.

"You're awfully quiet," Myra said, her eyes scrutinizing me. "I'd say you were brooding."

I cocked a brow. "Brooding?"

"Yeah, you know, like the mysterious master of the big old house on the hill. Very Bront?."

"So I'm like the hero from a romance novel?"

She grinned. "Yeah. All you need is a tragic backstory."

"Maybe I have one."

"Maybe you do. You've already seduced the innocent young governess."

"You're a governess now?"

"Artistic license."

"I think maybe you read too much. "

We shared a smile. "I do love a good story," she replied. "Maybe I'll write one about you."

"I hope you paint me in a favorable light."

"You're the hero. What other way is there?"

? ? ?

After Myra finished her pancakes–and I was insistent she ate every bite–I walked her back to her dorm and kissed her goodnight. She had wanted to know when she would see me again, and I told her I wasn't sure. That I had some things I had to take care of.

"I'll find you when I'm available," I promised her. "But I don't want you wandering around in town."

"You're very bossy," she had teased, but when I assured her it was for her own safety, she promised to be good and do what I'd asked.

It was still too early to visit my current source of blood, so I decided to wander through the bar district to see if I could discover any evidence of the one who was committing these killings. I had my suspicions, but I wanted to be sure before I acted. The fact that they were leaving such a distinct calling card meant they were someone who didn't care about protocol among our kind. And I knew they knew of my presence. Why else stage the murders like they did, as though they were thumbing their nose at me? It was a dare, plain and simple.

The crowds were thinner in the bars and the police presence was notably more prevalent, but I didn't sense anything out of the ordinary. I stepped inside a couple of bars, had a glass of wine in one to pass the time, fending off the attention of a young woman who'd had far too much to drink. I hoped she had someone to escort her home, because in her present state, she was a victim looking for a crime, but I didn't care enough to make it my problem. Victims were born every day.

It was just past midnight when I made my way back through town toward the modest neighborhood where my current blood source lived. I'd found her while she was out jogging and followed her home, waiting in her backyard until she had fallen asleep. As I approached the house on this night, I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Chalking it up to my general uneasiness since this current killing spree had gripped the city, I lingered in the shadows outside the house for several minutes.

When I was satisfied I was alone on the street, I stole up the walkway to the front porch and reached for the doorknob. Usually I had to force the lock open, but tonight the knob turned easily, as though the woman had forgotten to lock her door. I found that odd, considering the wave of fear that had gripped the populace in light of the recent murders. I entered the house and closed the door behind me, listening carefully. The only sound was the steady hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the faint ticking of the battery-operated clock on the livingroom wall. There was nothing coming from the bedroom where the woman slept.

The smell hit me before I got to the door of her room.

Blood.

The air was charged with the meaty scent, and I wondered how I hadn't noticed it from the front porch. It was the driving force of my life, a singular smell I could pick out in the middle of the most odorous surroundings. Which meant there must not have been much to notice.

I pushed open the door to the bedroom and took in the scene. The woman was splayed across the bed, her bare legs spread wide, her eyes open and staring vacantly, her throat gaping from the ragged, empty wound. No blood on her skin or bedclothes, but there was something I picked up right away.

The musky scent of cum.

She had been fucked and completely drained.

And I knew she had been left here for me to find.

I don't know how long I stood there staring at her until I became aware of a distinct noise outside. The squawking of a radio. I froze, listening. Two heartbeats approaching. Two sets of footsteps on the front porch.

Police.

Someone had called them. Had sent them to this house. And I was standing over the corpse.

I moved without thought, a silent ghost stealing down the hallway toward the back of the house. There was a knock on the door, a man's voice calling out.

"Police. Open the door."

The hallway was a dead end, which meant I had to go back toward the front of the house. I moved as quickly and quietly as possible, not wanting to alert them to my presence, but one of the cops was peering in the front window when I emerged in the livingroom.

"There's someone in there," I heard him tell his partner. I knew as soon as they tried the door, they'd be inside. Foregoing stealth, I ran through the small dining room to the kitchen, where a door was located on the back wall. The front door opened as I slipped out the back.

"Hey, you!" the cop yelled, running after me. I vaulted the fence in the backyard and ran down the next street, instinctively staying to the shadows. The second cop must have gone back to his car and decided to follow me. I hid behind a hedge as the car slowly rolled down the street, the spotlight playing along the side of the road, the radio chattering through the open window.

Once he was past me, I jumped up and ran as fast as I could, clearing fences and cutting through yards until I was several blocks away. I didn't slow down even then, knowing that they had probably found the body of the woman and thought I was her killer. I kept going, skirting through the alleyways that crisscrossed through the bar district until I came to its southern end.

Luckily they hadn't seen my face since I'd had my hood up, but I figured the entire police force was probably now on high alert for a man in a black hoodie. I ripped off the sweatshirt and tossed it in a dumpster, taking my chances on looking like some deranged fool who ran out on a cold night in just a tee shirt.

The wisest choice would have been to go home and lay low, but I had to feed or risk losing what little control I still possessed. I was pretty sure the person who murdered my blood source was the same one who'd called the police, meaning the game they were playing had just become personal.

I was livid and starving, a bad combination for anyone who crossed my path. I melted into the shadows of the sketchy strip of road, watching the hookers move between their corners and the occasional cars that rolled up to the curb. Picking one girl standing off by herself, I left my hiding place and approached her, pretending to be a drunk stumbling home from the bars.

"You looking to party, baby?" she asked.

I leered at her and nodded. "How much?"

If she noticed the murderous look in my eye, she didn't react. Instead, she looked me up and down and, liking what she saw, smiled. "For you baby, twenty bucks."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a bill without looking at it, stuffing it in her hand. It could have been twenty, could have been fifty for all I knew. I wasn't really thinking about the money. I needed blood, and she was warm and available. She tucked the bill into her bra, all business now.

"You got a car?"

"No. Let's just go to the alley."

She shrugged. "It's your money."

I led her around the corner to the alley where I'd been hiding and shoved her up against the wall.

"You like the rough stuff, huh?" she purred.

I unzipped my jeans and pulled out my cock, pushing up her short skirt and ramming into her cunt in one vicious stroke. She gasped, momentarily stunned, then began to meet my desperate thrusts with her own.

"That's good, baby. Fuck me harder."

"Shut up," I growled. I pounded her until I could feel my bloodlust rising to the point of no return, my cock ready to explode as I bent my head and found the pulse on her neck. I came hard when I sank my teeth into her flesh. She grunted then said something about not marking up the merchandise, but I ignored her as I drank my fill. Maybe too much.

When I was done, I brought my mouth to her ear and whispered an insidious command.

"You'll forget you ever saw me."

She looked dazed, but at least I left her standing on her own.

As I walked away, sated but unsatisfied, I had one thought on my mind.

Revenge.