I let my fangs and talons retract. After brushing tufts of sofa lining from my body, I slipped my underwear and pants back on.
Carmen returned, wearing a short bathrobe. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and her face looked freshly scrubbed.
She surveyed the torn sofa and the bits of upholstery littering the floor. “What the hell happened? If you were in the mood for rough sex, you didn’t have to go at it solo.”
“Nightmare,” I muttered, embarrassed.
“How do you feel now?”
I tightened my fists and flexed my arms. An athletic energy pounded through me. “Better.” I wanted to run, to jump, to smash things. I wanted to fight.
One name came to mind. Goodman. Your hours are numbered.
Carmen smiled. “Felix, your aura is so bright it could spark an explosion.”
I clasped her neck. “Speaking of explosions.”
She pulled away. “Don’t have the time. Remember that couple at the Markov PharmacoEconomic party?”
“Which couple? There were dozens.”
“Krandall and Peltier. You gave me their card.”
I nodded in recognition. That blonde Peltier had two nice big reasons why I couldn’t forget her.
Carmen undid the towel around her head and rubbed her scalp. “They called me just now. Want to get together.”
“Fun and games?” I knew the answer. A touch of jealousy brushed over me. Carmen and I had finally had sex and it was pretty damn good. But we vampires knew that sex was just another language that existed between the undead. Undead friends with undead benefits. I could no more be jealous of Carmen screwing around than I could be of her talking or dining with others. We could get attached to humans, and hell, I still had a soft spot-in the place where my heart used to beat-for a forest sprite who had come and gone through my undead life like a breeze.
Carmen laid the towel around her shoulders. “More than fun and games. I’ll see what they know about Goodman, aliens, and the missing women.”
“Be careful.”
“With those two?” Carmen stifled a laugh. “They try anything funny and I’ll stuff their remains in mason jars.”
Carmen bent over to pick up her discarded jogging suit. She looked at me from between her legs. “Felix, if you get down, you can see right up my bathrobe. And that, in case you can’t tell, is an invitation for a quickie.”
Chapter
38
It was my turn to get cleaned up. I took a long, hot shower and shaved. As the water pounded my back and shoulders, I scolded myself for slipping into despair. How had I let Goodman do that to me?
Then I remembered floating in the Atlantic, my flesh torn and my will shattered. One’s psyche can be mangled as deeply as one’s tissue. In my arrogance, I had thought that as a vampire I was invincible. I kept forgetting that I was not.
The spider bite had disappeared. No blemish. No scar. Only bad memories.
When I got out of the shower, Carmen was gone. I went to the kitchen. The chalices had left coffee brewing and a carafe of their mixed blood. Hers was B-positive, his O-negative. A nice, complementary blend, but I wanted something fresh.
Jack and Leslie were out. A note on the refrigerator wipe board said they were tending their boat. I went to the morgue and gathered my things from the workbench.
The front door opened. Leslie’s footsteps approached and she appeared in the morgue door. “Good morning. Carmen tells me you’re feeling better.”
“I am. And thanks for your hospitality.”
Leslie walked over to the mortician’s table. “I noticed you didn’t touch the carafe we’d left for you.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Maybe not.” She gave a tempting smile that I was familiar with. My tan was gone but my sexual prowess was back, thanks to Carmen.
“You do look better,” Leslie said. “Could I ask a favor?”
“Depends, but I’ll probably say yes.”
“I’m glad you didn’t drink from the carafe.” Leslie undid her scarf. “I’d rather you snack from me.”
“I can do that.”
Leslie unbuttoned her blouse and hopped on the mortician’s table. She peeled loose her jeans and panties, and let them drop.
“Where’s Jack?” I asked.
“On the boat. He’ll be there all day.”
With her large breasts, thick thighs, and wide hips, there was nothing little about Leslie. I approached her, my smile matching hers, my fangs growing long. She pulled her bra up and let those big puppies out for air. She scooted back on the table and propped her head on the steel headrest.
Made sense that she wanted to screw here in the morgue, on the mortician’s table. For the same reason office workers sneaked into their cubicles and boinked at their workstations. I knew chalices who owned a ranch, and they liked to screw in the barn, surrounded by the smell of alfalfa and horse shit.
I am a vampire. I’ve had sex in a coffin-albeit with a skinny chalice-and in crypts. But always with the living. I’d no sooner screw a corpse than eat soup from a toilet bowl.
I undressed and climbed on top of her, excited to have my power back. Leslie’s arms and legs clamped around me. I eased into her, enjoying the sensation of her moist warmth. She smelled of lilac soap with traces of bilge water, creosote, and gasoline. Leslie was a hands-on woman.
My fangs found her jugular. Her warm blood spurted into my mouth, deliriously tasty and satisfying. I pumped my hips and reached climax. As a reward to her, I lapped a good dose of pleasure enzymes into the wound of her throat. Leslie gasped. She reached up and grasped the edge of the table. Her legs squeezed tight and her body trembled under mine.
Her eyes remaining closed, she relaxed. Sweat dotted her forehead and puddled in the hollow between her breasts. I got off her and lapped the drops of blood clinging to my fangs.
Leslie’s chest heaved. She brought her legs up and hugged them as if to prolong the afterglow.
Rather than settle my nerves, all this sex sharpened the knives within me. My arms flexed and I worked my fists.
I wanted Goodman.
Now.
Leslie got dressed, then helped me apply sunblock and makeup. I put my clothes back on and went to the front room to look outside. A bright Carolina sun bore upon us. For a second I felt the fear but relaxed, as I knew the sunblock protected me.
I knew what to do. Go back to the resort and tear it apart looking for Goodman. I called Carmen from the house phone and left a message: I’m going after Goodman. Meet me when you can.
I told Leslie I needed a ride to Hilton Head, and she dropped me off two blocks from the first guardhouse of the resort. Sneaking in proved easy. I levitated across a slough onto the resort property, zapped a couple of golfers, and left them inside a clump of palmettos while I took their cart.
I thought about all the pain Goodman was in for. I would enjoy interrogating him. As a human, he could keep no secrets from my hypnosis.
Considering that only days ago armed guards and a helicopter had chased me off this island, the resort seemed sanguine and inviting.
I followed the curving asphalt trail of the cart path, turned the corner, and spotted a man teeing off by himself. His build and stature looked familiar.
Goodman.
I stopped the cart and slipped my sunglasses down to read his aura. It was red and simmered with impatience and anxiety. Whatever bothered him was about to get worse.
He was alone. He was mine. This was too easy. It was about time the breaks fell my way in this case.
I adjusted my sunglasses, got out of the cart, and marched directly toward him.