20 years later….
Aya Savage looked up as her boss leaned his hip on her desk. His eyes went straight to the hem of her shirt.“Working late again,” he murmured.“Hey, Shawn.”Shouldn’t you be getting home to your wife and four kids? she added in her mind.“What are you doing?”“working on a piece for James.”“You know, there are other ways of impressing me.”Yeah, she could just imagine.“Did you read my e-mail, Shawn? I went down to the police station this afternoon and talked with Teddy and Dan. They swear a gun dealer’s moved into town. They’ve found two modified Magnums on drug dealers.”Shawn reached out to pat her shoulder, stroking it as he took his hand back. “You just keep working the blotter. Let the big boys worry about the violent crimes. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty face of yours.”He smiled, eyes growing hooded as his gaze lingered on her lips.That stare routine had gotten old three years ago, she thought. Right after she’d started working for him.A paper bag. What she needed was a paper bag to pull over her head whenever she talked with him. Maybe with a picture of Mrs. Shawn taped to the front.“Would you like me to give you a ride home?” he asked.Only if it were raining thumbtacks and hairpins, you letch.“No, thanks.” Aya turned back to her computer screen and hoped he’d take the hint.Eventually he wandered off, probably heading for the bar across the street that most of the reporters hit before going home. New York, wasn’t exactly a hotbed of opportunity for any journalist, but Shawn’s big boys sure liked keeping up the appearance of carrying a heavy social burden. They relished cozying up to the bar at Bob’s and talking about the days when they’d worked at bigger, more important papers. For the most part they were just like Shawn: middle-aged, middle-of-the-road men who were competent, but not extraordinary at what they did. the bronx was big enough and close enough to New York City to have the nasty business of violent crimes, drug busts, and prostitution, so they were kept busy. But the new York Courier Journal was not the Times, and none of them was ever going to win a Pulitzer.It was rather sad.Yeah, well, look in the mirror, Aya thought. She was just a beat reporter. She’d never even worked at a national-level paper. So when she was in her fifties, unless things changed, she’d have to be at a free press polishing classifieds to have a shot at reflected glory from her CCJ days.She reached for the bag of M & M’s she’d been nursing. The damn thing was empty. Again.She should probably just go home. And pick up some Chinese down the street.On her way out of the newsroom, which was an open space cut up into cubicles by flimsy gray partitions, she hit her buddy James’s stash of Twinkies. James ate all the time. For him, there was no breakfast, lunch, and dinner: Consumption was a binary proposition. If he was awake, something was going into his mouth, and to keep himself supplied, his desk was a treasure trove of caloric depravity.She peeled off the cellophane and couldn’t believe she was biting into the artificial swill as she hit the lights and walked down the stairwell to Trade Street. Outside, the heat of July was a physical barrier between her and her apartment. Twelve straight blocks of hot and humid. Fortunately, the Chinese restaurant was halfway home and heavily air-conditioned. With any luck they’d be busy tonight, so she’d get to wait a while in the coolness.When she was finished with the Twinkie, she flipped open her phone, hit speed dial, and put in an order for beef with broccoli. As she walked along, she looked at the familiar, grim landmarks. Along this stretch of Trade Street, there were only bars, strip clubs, and the occasional tattoo parlor. The Chinese food place and the Tex-Mex buffet were the only two restaurants. The rest of the buildings, which had been used as offices in the twenties, when downtown had been thriving, were vacant. She knew every crack in the sidewalk; she could time the traffic lights. And the patois of sounds drifting out of open doors and windows offered no surprises either.McGrider’s Bar was playing blues; Zero Sum had bleating techno coming out of its glass entrance; and the karaoke machines were fired up at Ruben’s. Most of the places were reputable enough, but there were a couple she stayed away from on principle. Screamer’s in particular catered to a scary-ass clientele. That was one door she wouldn’t go through without a police escort.As she measured the distance to the Chinese restaurant, a wave of fatigue hit her. God, it was humid. The air was so heavy she felt as if she were breathing water.She had a feeling the exhaustion wasn’t just about the weather. She’d been pooped for weeks, and suspected she was dancing with depression. Her job was going nowhere. She was living in a place she didn’t care about. She had few friends, no lover, and no romantic prospects. If she looked ahead ten years and pictured herself staying put in new York with Shawn and the big boys, she only saw more of the same routine: getting up, going to work, trying to make a difference, failing, going home alone.Maybe she just needed out. Out of new York. Out of the company. Out of the electronic family of her alarm clock and the phone on her desk and the TV that kept her dreams away while she slept.God knew there was nothing keeping her in town but habit. She hadn’t spoken to any of her foster parents for years, so they wouldn’t miss her. And the few friends she had were busy with their own families.When she heard a leering whistle behind her, she rolled her eyes. That was the problem with working near the bars. On occasion you picked up gawkers.The catcalls came next, and then, sure enough, two guys crossed the street at a jog and came after her. She looked around. She was heading away from the bars and into the long stretch of vacant buildings before the restaurants. The night was thick and dark, but at least there were streetlights and the occasional car passing.“I like your black hair,” the big one said as he fell into step beside her. “Mind if I touch it?”Aya knew better than to stop. They looked like rich college boys out for the summer, which meant they were just going to be annoying, but she didn’t want to take any chances. Besides, the Chinese place was only five blocks up.She reached into her purse anyway, searching for her pepper spray.“You need a ride somewhere?” the big guy asked. “My car’s not far. Seriously, how ’bout you come with us? We could go for a little ride.”He grinned and winked at his buddy, as if the smooth rap was definitely going to get him laid. The crony laughed and circled her, his thin blond hair flopping as he skipped.“Let’s ride her!” the blond said.Damn it, where was her spray?The big one reached out, touching her hair, and she looked at him good and hard. With his polo shirt and his khaki shorts, he was richly handsome. Real American material.When he smiled at her, she sped up, focusing on the dim neon glow of the Chinese place’s sign. She was praying someone else would walk by, but heat had driven the pedestrian traffic indoors. There was no one around.“You want to tell me your name?” the American asked.Her heart started banging in her chest. The spray was in her other bag.Four more blocks.“Maybe I’ll just pick a name for you. Let me think…How’s pussycat sound?”The blond giggled.She swallowed and took out her cell phone, just in case she needed to call 911.Stay calm. Keep it together.She pictured how good the rush of air-conditioning in the restaurant was going to feel as she went inside. Maybe she’d wait and call a cab, just to make sure she got home without being further harassed by them.“Come on, pussycat,” the American cooed. “I know you’re going to like me.”Only three more blocks…Just as she stepped off the curb to cross Tenth Street, he grabbed her around the waist. Her feet popped off the ground, and as he dragged her backward, he covered her mouth with a heavy palm. She fought like a madwoman, kicking and punching, and when she reached behind and belted him in the eye, his grip slipped. She lunged away from him, legs driving her heels hard into the pavement, breath trapped in her throat. A car went by out on Trade Street, and she yelled as its headlights flared.But then he got her again.“You’re going to beg for it, bitch,” the American said in her ear as he put her in a choke hold. He wrenched her neck around until she thought it was going to snap and pulled her deeper into the shadows. She could smell his sweat and the college-boy cologne he wore, could hear the high-pitched laughter of his friend.An alley. They were taking her into an alley.Her stomach heaved, bile stinging her throat, and she jerked her body around furiously, trying to get free. Panic made her strong. But he was stronger.He pushed her behind a Dumpster and pressed his body into hers. She drove her elbow into his ribs and kicked some more.“Goddamn it, get her arms!”She got in one good heel punch to the blond’s shins before he caught her wrists and held them over her head.“Come on, bitch, you’re going to like this,” the american growled, trying to get his knee between her legs.He ground her back against the building’s brick wall, holding her in place by the throat. He had to use his other hand to rip open her shirt, and as soon as her mouth was free, she screamed. He slapped her hard, and she felt her lip split open. Blood rushed onto her tongue, pain stunning her.“You do that again and I’m cutting your tongue out.” the american’s eyes boiled with hate and lust as he shoved up the white lace of her bra and exposed her breasts. “Hell, I think I’ll do that anyway.”“Hey, are those real?” the blond asked, as if she would answer him.His buddy grabbed one of her nipples and pulled. She winced, tears making her vision swim. Or maybe her eyesight was going because she was hyperventilating.the american laughed. “I think she’s natural. But you can find out for yourself when I’m finished.”As the blond giggled, some deep part of her brain kicked into gear and refused to let this happen. She forced herself to stop fighting and reached back to her self-defense training. Except for her heavy breathing, her body went still, and it took the american a minute to notice.“You want to play nice?” he said, eyeing her with suspicion.She nodded slowly.“Good.” He leaned in, his breath filling her nose. She fought not to cringe at the rank smell of stale cigarettes and beer. “But if you scream again, I’m going to stab you. Do you understand me?”She nodded once more.“Let her go.”The blond dropped her wrists and giggled, moving around them as if he were looking for the best angle.the american’s hands were rough on her skin as he fondled her, and she held James’s Twinkie down by force of will, her gag reflex pumping her throat. Even though she loathed the sensation of the palms pushing into her breasts, she reached for the fly of his pants. He was still holding her by the neck, and she was having trouble breathing, but the moment she touched his privates, he moaned and his grip loosened.With a hard jam of her hand, she grabbed his balls, twisted as hard as she could, and kneed him in the nose as he crumbled. Adrenaline shot through her, and for a split second she wished his buddy would come at her instead of staring at her stupidly.“Fuck you!” she screamed at them both.Aya bolted out of the alley, holding her shirt together as she ran, and she didn’t stop until she was at the door to her apartment building. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely get her key in the locks. And it wasn’t until she stood in front of her mirror in the bathroom that she realized tears were pouring down her face.Aya took a forty-five-minute shower, used half a bottle of body wash, and nearly melted the cheap wallpaper off the bathroom walls because she kept the water so hot. She dried off, threw on her bathrobe, and tried not to catch another shot of her reflection in the mirror. Her lip was a mess.She stepped out into her cramped studio apartment. The air conditioner had died a couple of weeks ago, so the room was nearly as smothering as the bathroom. She eyed her two windows and the sliding door that led out to a wilted courtyard. She wanted to open them all, but checked the locks instead.Even though her nerves were shot, at least her body was rebounding fast. Her appetite had returned with a vengeance, as if it were pissed at the diversion of dinner, and she went around to her galley kitchen. The chicken leftovers from four nights ago even seemed inviting, but when she cracked the foil package, she caught a whiff of sweat socks. She pitched the loa
Malcolm****Malcolm Baal knew someone had quietly entered his home office. Either a foe or close friend.A friend, he decided. A foe could never make it past the guards at each entrance of his Upper East Side Manhattan townhouse. Or past the guards stationed on each of the five floors.With his excellent night vision, Malcolm suspected he could see much better than his uninvited guest.His suspicions were confirmed when the dark silhouette stumbled into a Louis XVI bombe chest and cursed softly.Jacob Bethram. A friend, but an annoying one. The vice president of marketing for Baaltech Industries tackled every problem with tireless enthusiasm. It was enough to make Malcolm feel old.Really old. "What do you want, Jacob?"His guest whipped around and squinted in Malcolm's direction. "Why are you sitting here, all alone in the dark?""Hmm. Tough question. I suppose
Jacob lifted one of the doll's feet for a closer look. "This little babe is tempting, though."Malcolm sighed. This mortal sex toy was supposed to solve the Ancient Bloodsucker problem? They were wasting his time, not to mention making him feel horny and damned lonely at the same time. "All the Vamps I know prefer brain sex. I assume it's the same with the Ancient Bloodsuckers.""Not possible with this one, I'm afraid." Gustavo tapped the doll's head, producing a ripe-melon echo.Malcolm noted the doll was still smiling, though her blue glass eyes gazed straight ahead with a vacant look. "So she has the same IQ as Linda.""Hey." Jacob scowled as he cradled the doll's foot to his chest. "That's not nice.""Neither is wasting my time." Malcolm glared at him. "How can this toy possibly solve the problem with the Ancient Bloodsuckers?""But she's much more than a toy, sir." Gustavo fiddled with
Aya****"Aya rode the night bus this time, after what had happened to her the other night, she had decided to play it safe, it was hard working two jobs and living undercover as a journalist.Her mind wandered back to that scary night, when she and her best friend Natalie had been on a case, that would have been the case that would have changed their lives but instead It had taken Natalie's life and forced Aya to live in hiding.She knew she was wanted, the head quarters had granted her asylum, they had sent her here to hide in the rush of new york, and work two jobs.The bus pulled up in her bus stop and she quickly hurried down.*It was another endlessly boring night at the dental clinic. Aya leaned back in the squeaky office chair and gazed at the white ceiling tiles. The water stain was still there. What a surprise. It had taken her three nights to conclude that the stain was the exact shape of a dac
Aya gasped. Her hands lowered. Her stomach lurched. "You… you're bleeding.""Put the gun down before you shoot yourself in the foot.""No." She raised the Beretta again, and tried not to think about blood. After all, if she shot him, there'd be plenty more."I need your help. I lost a tooth.""You—you're a customer?""Yes. Can you help me?""Oh, Sheesh." She dropped her gun into her purse. "Sorry about this.""You don't normally greet your customers at gunpoint?" His eyes twinkled with more amusement.Oh, God, he was gorgeous. Just her luck that the perfect man would waltz into her life two minutes before her death. "Look, they'll be here any second. You'd better get out of here. Fast."His eyes narrowed. "You're in trouble?""Yes. And if they catch you here, they'll kill you, too. Come on." She grabbed her purse. "Let's go out the back."
Malcolm had heard that Stephan's preferred employer was the German mafia. That would explain the six German-speaking, gun-toting mortals in his company. good lord. The German mafia wanted Aya dead.Did the Germans know Stephan was a vampire? Or did they merely think he was a hired assassin from the Old Country who preferred to work at night? Either way, they clearly feared him.They had reason to. No mortal would stand a chance against him. Not even a gutsy young woman with a Beretta hidden in her sequined Marilyn Monroe handbag.A moan drew his attention to the gutsy young woman. She was wakening. good lord, if the Germans had hired Stephan to kill Aya, she wouldn't live through another night.Unless… unless she was under the protection of another vampire. A vampire with enough power and resources to take on the entire coven of German vampires. A vampire with a security force already in place. A vampire who had fough
"By God, woman, you are hard to control.""You better believe it." She pulled against his grip, but couldn't free her wrists.He leaned closer. His breath stirred her hair and feathered her brow. "Aya," he whispered her name like a cool breeze.She shivered. His hypnotic voice tugged at her, lulling her into a sensation of comfort and security.False security. "I won't let you kill me.""I don't want to kill you.""Good. Then let me go."He lowered his head, his breath tickling her throat. "I want you alive. Warm and alive."Another shiver zigzagged through her body. Oh God, he was going to touch her. Maybe even kiss her. She waited, her heart hammering in her chest.His voice whispered in her ear, "I need you."She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut when she realized how close she'd come to saying yes.He moved back,
So much for keeping his raging lust a secret. As far as Malcolm could tell, the lovely mortal in his lap had finally realized the futility of escaping his erection. Each time she succeeded in putting a little space between her head and his crotch, he rose to the challenge and filled the gap.He was a bit amazed himself. He hadn't experienced this much desire in more than a hundred years.Now, instead of bumping against him, Aya was lying very still against his zipper. Her smoky blue eyes were focused on the car's ceiling as if nothing was going on. But the blush on her cheeks and the occasional shudder that rippled down her warm body told him otherwise. She was extremely aware of him. And she knew he wanted her.Malcolm didn't have to read her mind to know this. He could read her body instead. The distinction was new to him, and the result was powerful, fueling his lust to a higher degree."Malcolm?" She glanced at hi