Still, before she knew what she was doing, she'd already asked, "What happened, Val?"
He shook his head. "Once I would have explained my actions. Once I tried to explain my actions. But you didn't want to listen."
"I…" Lucy choked on the words. Suddenly she was dying to know why her love had cheated on her, wanted to forget her pride and her past. "Why were you with that vamp that night?"
Val studied Lucy's high breasts, and the way her skirt skimmed over her hips, hugging their slender shape. But then he decided, "Once those words would have meant the world to me. Once. You know something, cherie, you're a martyr to your past."
And before Lucy could say another word, Val was gone; the dead man was walking, leaving her a dead woman inside once again. He was right; she knew that her past had shaped her into the woman she was today. Her decisions, values, hopes, fears—it all came from what had happened to her as a child, both the big traumatic heartbreaks and the small inconsequential things that filled the everyday life. After hearing Val tonight, Lucy wondered if her eyes had been so clouded with what had been that she'd refused to see what could have been.
Two tears coursed down her cheeks, and Lucy had a feeling that she had might have made a mistake four years ago. In a life fraught with errors and her accident-prone character, losing Val might just have been the biggest mistake of her whole life.
No. Who was she kidding? Losing Val had been the biggest mistake of her life. Getting up from her table, she resolved to leave. She was too depressed for any more stakeout duty. And as she walked out the door of the bar, Lucy sighed mournfully.
"If only." They were two small words, which meant everything if a lonely person could go back.
If only.
Chapter Eight
I Used to Love Lucy
Everyone, human or supernatural, carried his past with him, like so much unwanted baggage. If a person was smart and self-aware, he lightened his load. But Lucy hadn't lightened her load at all, Val realized despondently as he hurried out of the Overbite Bar.
Shaking his head, he walked to his car. He had loved Lucy once, deeply and passionately, in spite of the fact that she had turned his undead life upside down with her accident-prone and chaotic lifestyle. Lucy was intelligent, passionate, and most of all she made him laugh. She had a bulldog determination in whatever she undertook, and an air of innocence about her that he had always found refreshing. He had loved to listen to her West Texas accent she couldn't quite get rid of, especially with words like "oil," "wash," and "nine." The way she slurred them out, she sounded like she was from another planet.
The first time Val met her had been at the Riverwalk in San Antonio. When she had fallen into the river, he had fallen hard. Later that night, they had danced to a golden oldie by Tony Orlando called "Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree," and Chicago's "Color My World." Those two songs became their songs.
Three weeks later they'd made love for the first time. The Eagles' "Take it to the Limit" had been playing, and their two pulses had beat in rhythm to the music and their dance of love as old as time. Val had taken them both to the limit, over and over, as the dark shades of evening faded to the grays and purples of darkest night. Lucy had been everything he ever imagined in a lover. Of course, she had also been fairly inexperienced.
Yes, Lucy had become his daydreams, and she had filled his nighttime with true happiness, a bon viveur he had not felt in over two hundred years.
On the downside, Lucy had always been argumentative, stubborn as a mule for someone not of the shape-shifter weremule set, suspicious, and immature. Her pride was almost as strong as his own. And the most daunting thing about her was that she hadn't outgrown her past. She probably never would.
The ringing of his cell phone captured his attention as he put his car into gear. Glancing down at the display, he noted it was his partner in the paranormal task forces. "What's up, Chris?"
Chris's husky voice drew him back from his dark thoughts about lost love. Christine was a vampiress, and had been his partner for over four years. She had once been a lover. In fact, her relationship with Val was what had sparked her interest in law enforcement. Christine had gotten her degree and become a police officer for the night shift back when women were still scarce in the force.
"What's happened?" he asked her.
"We got a dead one. Strange, Val. It's really strange," Chris said.
"Where at?" Val felt his face muscles tightening. If Christine said it was strange, that was a bad sign. As partners, they had seen some really gruesome murders, from deranged ghouls to rogue werewolves.
"Down at the French Quarter on Voodoo Lane, a block from Addams's Familiars."
Addams's Familiars was a favorite of the wizard and witch world, as well as with gargoyles who liked having something fuzzy to play with while in flesh form. Cats, frogs, bats, hamsters—any number of familiars were available at the store, in all shapes, sizes, and colors.
"You there now?" Val asked.
"Oui. Just got here and saw the body," Christine replied, her voice filled with tension.
"I'll be there in five," Val responded. He flipped off the phone. If Chris was this upset, something big, bad, and ugly had gone down tonight. Val knew, because he knew his partner. Even though they hadn't been lovers in over eighty years, he still cared about her and always would. She hadn't ever been the love of his life, but she always stood firm as a friend that he could count on. He owed Christine a lot, in spite of the fact that she was the vampiress Lucy had seen with him that ill-fated night four years ago.
Hurrying to the scene of the crime, he could see the yellow and black police tape billowing softly in the light wind. Val's nostrils dilated at the smell of garbage tinged with the hot sultry air of the Louisiana night. Beneath the putrid scent of rotting trash was a different smell of decay.
His partner was standing by the victim's body. Christine's skin was the color of creamed coffee, her lean, muscular body a stark contrast to the victim. The dead woman was older, her body curled into the fetal position, and she had heavily wrinkled skin on her face with eyes clouded white from age. The corpse had little muscle mass left in her legs and arms, and her skirt was hiked above bony hips. Underwear hung around her right ankle.
It was the expression on her face, mouth frozen in a scream of horror, which caused a wave of sympathy to sweep Val. Nobody should die in a dirty alley like this, left to rot like so much trash. And soon the victim would be just a number in the morgue. Val wondered what her last thoughts had been. The woman had been terribly afraid; he could still smell the emotion in the air.
Clenching his jaw, he surveyed the area and approached the victim. The scene showed signs of rough sex: bruises on the skin and ripped underclothes.
Kneeling, he studied the victim as dozens of scents filtered through his nose. Something supernatural had used this woman and destroyed her; Val could smell it in the scents of night, in a faint damp smell of the grave. He didn't believe a vampire had done this, but something with a similar smell—something probably a close relative to the Nosferatu species.
"A la fin! Welcome to the end," Val hissed, his dark blue eyes fierce. And, shaking his head, he turned away from the frozen scream and wide milky eyes of the corpse. "Who found the body?" he asked.
"Some kids. They were drinking pretty heavily and wandered outside to be sick."
Val nodded. "Coroner?"
Christine glanced down at her watch. "ETA is sometime in the next ten minutes." She turned back to the victim's corpse, sadly shaking her head. "She looks like she's been raped. Who would want to rape an old woman? And why is this old woman wearing red bikini briefs with lace hearts? And look at the old gal's shoes! Four-inch spiked heels? How can someone this frail even walk in them?"