Bound by Blood

Chapter 4

Gregor watched her march off. She walked with the idiotic lunch box tucked under her arm like a football. An oversized tweed sports coat belonging to some long dead, fashion-challenged old man covered her to her knees, hiding her fantastically curvy body. A body he was getting better acquainted with each time they met.

What would happen if he ran after her? Would she tell him to get lost, or would she accompany him to the nearest hotel? His eyes closed as he imagined the two of them naked in the cool anonymity of a hotel room, a place with no meaning, no promises, and most of all, no rules. She’d beg, and he’d deliver—but bit by bit and in good time—until she was soaked in sweat and screaming and dizzy with blood loss. He’d put her through her paces, and when it was over she’d never want to fuck anyone else. Ever.

Gregor’s eyes flipped open. Damn good thing he wore a knee-length coat too, or he’d be arrested for public indecency. Madelena had vanished into the crowd on the avenue, but he was downwind of her, and her scent still played in his nostrils. If he wanted to, he could find her easily. But he didn’t.

If he went after her, he’d be lost, and he had no intention of bowing to this insanity. The chemistry between them was powerful, sure, but what about the rest of it? What about the slight problem that they couldn’t stand one another? That she was an annoying geek? Buffy the Goddamn Vampire Slayer could kiss his ass. And so could all the powers of vampyr prophecy. He liked his life exactly as it was.

Gregor sniffed the air one last time, and caught a fading thin thread of her scent. That was it. He’d never see her again. The desire for her would fade, and he’d be back to himself soon enough. In the meanwhile, Mikhail was waiting for him. He began to search for another cab, contemplating the unfamiliar taste of ketchup in his mouth.

Mikhail met Gregor at his office door with a slap on the back. “You’re late. What happened to you?”

He withdrew his hand with a grimace and sniffed it. Gregor twisted, trying to see what was on his back.

“Let me guess,” Mikhail said, wiping his greasy hand down the front of Gregor’s coat. “You got in a brawl with a hot dog vendor?”

Gregor cursed and slipped his coat off to see the damage. “Something like that.”

Always fond of mysteries, Mikhail stepped closer, his fine-cut nostrils flaring as he circled Gregor, probing for clues. Mikhail was disgustingly attractive, so much so that he didn’t pass for human. His skin was eerily flawless, his fair hair too bright, his eyes too predatory. Among humans he had to dull down his appearance or keep to the shadows. Whenever he walked into Tangiers he caused a stir, so he didn’t do it much. It was pretty clear who in the Faustin family got the vampyr lord genes, and who got the Russian peasant dregs.

“Who’s this woman I smell on you, what was she doing with a hot dog, and why are you so frustrated?”

“We’re here to talk about security issues, not my sex life.”

Mikhail was designing the security system for Elixir. That was his job, contrary to appearances: security consultant, not therapist, not bloodhound.

“But this is so much more interesting.” His cold eyes sharpened with interest. “You look drawn. When did you last feed?”

Gregor brushed Mikhail’s hand off his arm and threw himself in a chair to put an end to the hovering and sniffing. “I don’t know. I think I grabbed a bite yesterday.”

The truth was that somehow the bitter, stale blood in Madelena’s ankle had tainted the taste of all blood for him. He was starving, but couldn’t eat much. This queasiness crossed over into the realm of sex. Something about her had managed to put him off sex with other women, but that sure as hell wasn’t going to be a permanent state of affairs.

Mikhail lifted one exquisite eyebrow at him, questioning, amused.

“You got something to show me or not?”

“Testy, testy.” Mikhail pulled out the floor plan of Elixir, rolled it out on a worktable and secured the corners with polished onyx weights. “Is this woman I smell on you your intended?”

“Goddamn it, Misha.” Gregor ran his fingers through his hair and gave up. Mikhail had the patience to badger him until the end of time if he didn’t submit. “Yes.”

Mikhail’s lips stretched in a slow smile. “She’s human. Does she please?”

“No. She does not please. Not at all. This prophesying bullshit—it doesn’t work.”

“I’d say it is working quite well, by the looks of you. Let me guess, you’ve tasted her but not consummated?” When Gregor would not answer, he continued. “Why are you fighting it? You’re bound to her already. No other woman will ever please you again.”

“Fuck!” Gregor leapt out of his chair. “Don’t say that. What, just because I tasted her?”

Mikhail inclined his head in acknowledgement (the bastard never said “uh-huh” like a normal person) and produced a bottle of scotch and two glasses from a drawer. The Faustin cure-all for every disaster.

“Goddamn it!” Gregor brought both hands down on the desktop, toppling a pencil cup. “Fucking nice of one of you to warn me about that little rule.”

Mikhail held out a glass of scotch, which Gregor ignored, so he put it on the desk in front of him. “I would think you’d know. It’s common knowledge. Remember the tale of Roland and Illysia?”

“No, I do not fucking remember Roland and fucking Illysia!” Gregor put his hands to his head as a sharp pain pierced him from temple to temple. He hadn’t even known her name when he first tasted her, when she lifted her hair up and showed him the scrape on her brow. He remembered how that taste shot through him. It had been an impulse to kiss her clean, nothing more. Would that impulse dictate the course of his life?

It would not.

He took a deep breath and let it out. Then he pounded back the scotch in one swallow, slammed the glass back on the desk, pointed an accusing finger at Mikhail and let fly.

“I might have skipped a lot of reading growing up, but I remember one thing for certain. We are free creatures. Pop taught us that. My free will is sacred, and it will not be bound by anything. If I marry, it will be the person of my choosing. I will not be forced by fate and I damn well won’t be tricked into it by my family.”

Mikhail narrowed his eyes at Gregor’s index finger, recognizing it as the challenge it was, but only said, “As you will.”

“Don’t fucking humor me. Say what you’re thinking.”

Mikhail sat down and contemplated the bottom of his glass for a moment. “I will not be pulled into a fight with you. You’re hungry and foul tempered. But I will answer your question. I think you have been given a gift, and that you should accept it.”

Gregor hated him as he had when they were children, hated him for being so goddamn smug and serene, hated him for being right most of the time.

“Someday soon Ma will hand you a little slip of paper with a name on it, Misha, and then you will tell me how much you appreciate the ‘gift’ of losing your free will.”

Mikhail smiled a cold smile, showing a bit of tooth to warn him off. “Are you prophesying now, or was that a curse?”

“Take it as a curse.”

Gregor threw his shoulder against the door and walked out into the free night air.

Maddy decided to quit her job. It was too tiring. The commute was killing her. Literally. She had savings that she had no use for, and leave time coming to her, so she decided to live quietly at home for as long as the ticker would hold out. She’d read, play with the kids next door, feed the ducks.

Her heart, patched, battered and worn, was just not going to last without medical intervention. How long she had, she really wasn’t sure, and didn’t want to know. Weeks? Months? A year? What she did know was that she did not want her chest cracked open yet again.

All her life she’d been in and out of hospitals and she was tired of it. All her valves had been replaced, some more than once. Her heart muscle was atrophied and limping, ravaged by infections and prematurely aged. By luck of the draw she’d been born with damaged goods, and despite that, they’d kept her alive thirty years, which was more than anyone expected. Her greatest fear was not death. She’d been on death’s doorstep her entire life. What she feared was useless pain, the loss of dignity, and most of all, ending up sustained by machines.

Of course she didn’t share this decision with anyone at work, or even her family. No one would support this selfish, private decision, and the last thing she wanted to do was end her life arguing with everyone she loved. What she told them all was that she was taking a leave of absence to research and write a book on the role of the monster in science fiction.

On her last day at work someone brought donuts, knowing her love for anything in a pink box. In the staff room everyone teased her that her “research” was going to be done on a beach in Bali. Maddy looked out the window at the falling sleet and thought maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

She worked the late shift, manning the reference desk on level three (health and education) until they closed at nine. It was a quiet night, and Maddy wished it wasn’t, wished it was crazy busy so she didn’t have time to think about how much she’d miss her job. All of her work had already been turned over to her replacement. She pried her prized figure of Giles, the librarian from Buffy from his place on top of her monitor and tucked him in her lunchbox. When she looked back up, Gregor Faustin was standing at her desk.

It had been three weeks since their interesting cab ride, and she never expected to see him again. A rush of adrenaline made her lightheaded, and her thoughts broke into a thousand little pieces. She grabbed a pencil to steady her hand.

“You look like shit, Faustin.” She said it in her quietest library voice.

It was all she could think of to say, and it was true. The man was haggard. He’d lost weight, and he had circles under his eyes, eyes which were an amazing blue. She realized then she’d never seen him in good light, or she would have remembered that he had eyes the color of tractor beams.

He didn’t bridle at that comment as she expected, he just nodded, and said in a tone as quiet as hers, “You look a little pale, too. Do you suffer from the same thing I do?”

What does he mean by that? Maddy tilted back in her desk chair and studied his uncharacteristically sincere expression. “I doubt it.”

Again he nodded, looking pained. He glanced over his shoulder—looking for the exit? The last thing in the world she expected him to say was, “Would you like to go out with me?”

She brought both feet down with a thud. Surprises like this were hard on the ticker. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

A brief scowl darkened his features, and she was glad to see it, because otherwise she’d think he was possessed. But he repressed it and said, “I thought maybe we could go for a drink after you get off work.”

That made no sense. What did the man want with her? Maddy didn’t believe in mincing words anymore. Well, she never had, really. But she was much worse lately. “Why in the hell would we want to do that?”

“Because we find each other so damned fascinating, that’s why.”

Ah, full-on Faustin, snarl and all. She’d missed that snarl, she realized, more than she’d imagined.

“I think you’ve confused obnoxious with fascinating, Faustin. Don’t worry, it’s a common mistake. But let me assure you, we don’t get along. That annoyance you feel right now? It’s real.”

He leaned onto her desk, eyes hooding suggestively. Suddenly he didn’t look so haggard. “But you admit we do get along very well in some ways.”

That they did. It had taken days for her to recover from that last encounter, to stop dreaming about him at night, to stop hoping that he’d show up in her room again, even though he was an asshole who’d jumped her in the cab and spurned her on the curb. She’d worn out a set of batteries in her vibrator fantasizing about that cab ride. Maybe they should have finished what they started that day. Now it was too late.

“Sorry, I’m not interested.”

“You’re lying.” He said it with complete confidence.

“You son of a bitch, you—” All of a sudden she understood. “You’ve never been turned down before, have you?”

“No.” The corners of his mouth began to twitch into a reluctant smile, and he dipped his head, almost shy. “Actually, I’ve never had to ask before.”

Maddy had to smile back. “Well, this is quite an honor, then. But the answer is still no.”

Another patron came to the desk to leaf through a binder next to them. Faustin tossed him an evil look and leaned forward even further, dropping his voice to just above audible.

“I know I’ve been an asshole, I have to apologize—”

Maddy waved her hand, “It’s not that.”

“Is it because of what you think I am?”

He put all sorts of suggestion into that question, and her ticker started to flip out. But she managed to say calmly enough, “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Come out with me and I’ll tell you.”

Now he was leaning way too far over her desk. People were going to notice. Maddy snapped her pencil against his knuckles and he drew back, nursing his hand.

“I guess I’ll have to live with the mystery.” Bantering was tiring. She heaved a sigh. “Look Faustin, I can’t date anyone just now. Period. No exceptions. Nothing personal.”

“Can’t?” he began, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by Linda, one of her co-workers, coming behind the desk.

“I’m going miss you so much, sweetie,” Linda said as she gave Maddy a big squeeze.

Maddy clung to her. She’d hugged so many people that day, drawing strength from each one of them and banking it up. There would not be so many hugs around her apartment in the coming weeks.

When the woman left, Faustin was still there, squinting at her. “You’re quitting?”

“No, it’s just a long leave of absence. Research.”

“Are you going out to celebrate tonight?”

“No, I’m too tired.” That is what she had told everyone who’d offered, and it was pretty much true. Jammies and TV, that was her plan.

“Let me take you out to celebrate, just as a friend.”

Maddy laughed at the word friend.

“I’m serious.” When he wanted to, he could do sincere very well. “It won’t be a date. You don’t want to date. I got that. But I don’t think you should be alone tonight, because you’re sad.”

“I’m not sad.” She shifted her eyes toward a pile of papers on her desk.

“It’s written all over you. You’re tired and sad. Come on. It’s nothing.”

Was she that transparent? How depressing. Pretending to be busy, she bent over a pad, wrote why me?!??!? tore it off and filed it under W for a future librarian to find.

“One drink of your choice, anywhere you want, and a chauffeured ride home.”

Faustin mustered an encouraging smile, and she knew she should not even consider it, but curiosity won her over. She was wrapping things up and Gregor Faustin was a bundle of loose ends.

Still, spending any time with the man was just asking for trouble, and she mused aloud, “Strange things happen when you and me and cars mix, Faustin.”

“Not tonight.” He raised his hand and gave her the Girl Scout salute. “Scout’s honor.”

She laughed. “You were never a Boy Scout, Gregor Faustin.”

Madelena met him on the sidewalk in front of the darkened library at 9:05. Gregor got a little rush just seeing her silhouette at the door, waiting for the guard to let her out. Three weeks of creeping insanity and slow starvation had broken his resolve. Perhaps free will was not so important in the big scheme of things. Perhaps the entire concept was an illusion. Hunger made him philosophical, so he decided to compromise with fate, and find out a little more about this woman. If she really was his destiny, then they must have something in common.

A civilized drink was a start. Already she’d surprised him by being more thoughtful and sober than he remembered, and he had to admit he liked seeing that side of her.

But this “no dating” thing of hers was bullshit, unless she was taking vows. She was single, he was single, and fluids had been exchanged between them already. This was a date.

When she came out she shook her head at him, bemused, like she didn’t expect he’d be there. In her beret and heavy-rimmed glasses she looked like a beatnik, except the beret was purple. And had a big, glittering butterfly pinned to it. He repressed a shudder. Her woolen peacoat, though, was not bad. Not sexy, but not offensive.

“New coat?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she turned away from him and adjusted her scarf. “Thanks for the gift certificate. It was way too much.”

Gregor shrugged. “Good coats are expensive, and I ruined yours.”

That made her laugh. He was growing to like the laugh that lived in her voice. “I’m glad you did. My mom bought me that awful red down thing, you know, because it’s so damn important that I stay warm…” She stopped mid-thought and shrugged, “You know, mothers.”

Did he ever know mothers. “Where do you want to go?”

“There’s an Irish pub not far from here. One pint, and then it’s jammies for me, got it?”

Gregor went a little lightheaded thinking of her jammies. He was developing a flannel fetish. He’d played with the notion of hiring dancers to work the club in flannel nightgowns. Wet flannel nightgowns, maybe. Short, wet flannel nightgowns. “Got it. Pint. Jammies.”

The walk there was a little awkward. What were they supposed to talk about? It was easier to fight with her. Fortunately the bar was only a couple of blocks away, and as it turned out, he liked her choice. It was a friendly place, with a quiet back room fitted with a fireplace. There was even a table open near the fire. Gregor loved heat sources: fires, radiators, human women. They settled down by the fire with pints.

Madelena sucked the head off her pint of stout, and then licked the creamy foam off her upper lip with a sheepish grin.

“Stout’s my favorite,” she said. “It’s like dinner in a glass.”

Gregor was trying to figure out her looks. Such a great mouth, nice to look at, better to kiss, but then there was all that thick black hair hiding the shape of her face, and those glasses were like a mask. Her scent was always pleasing, but tonight it was not quite as he remembered it. He wondered if she’d been sick recently, or maybe she was coming down with something…

“Faustin? Don’t go all glassy like that, it’s creepy.”

Gregor shrugged off his stupor, his fascination, whatever it was that afflicted him whenever he came near her. “Why don’t you call me Gregor?”

“I don’t know, I kinda like Faustin. Does anyone ever call you Greg?”

Greg? The thought made him bristle all over. “Absolutely not.”

Madelena smirked, then laughed aloud. He scowled, and she laughed harder, clutching her sides. Gregor folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.

“So glad to amuse you.” He was not used to be laughed at, but he liked to see her skin flush with color.

“Greg!” she wheezed. She hid her face in her hands.

Gregor sipped his pint, waiting for the hilarity to end. It wasn’t that funny. But just watching her laugh made him want to smile. By some miracle the beer tasted decent, not like chalk as everything else had tasted to him lately. Probably because she was near.

When she finally stopped laughing, she took off her glasses and began to rub them with her shirttail, still grinning. “Okay Greg-or Faustin. Tell me about yourself.”

“Look at me.” He put a little spin of command on the words.

Startled, she lifted her head, her eyes naked, her pupils flaring wide. Her eyes were beautiful, almond shaped and wide set. They were dark, like he already knew, almost black, but now he could see the warmth in the iris, like coffee held to light. Thin brows framed her eyes in high, intelligent arcs. A few tiny black freckles or moles dotted the tops of her cheekbones and the corners of her eyes. Without her glasses her gaze was a little unfocused, but that softness reminded him of the blood languor, so was twice as sexy. These were eyes he could learn to love. Maybe, just maybe, this would work.

This inspection took just an instant, and in that instant she recovered from the command, plopped the glasses back on her face and opened her mouth to say some smartass thing. To stop that, he said, “López de Victoria, I’m guessing that’s a Puerto Rican name.”

That brought a smile to her face, slightly exasperated and also a little proud. “It is, but I’m a complete mutt. Puerto Rican, African-American, Irish—you name it, I’ve got it in me.”

“You have family around here?”

“Tons. They’re all in Queens. My mom, my sister, Lenora. My sister has three great kids.” The smile slipped from her face and that sadness he had seen at the library returned, like a cloud passing over the moon. She bent over her pint.

“What’s bothering you tonight, Madelena?” He did not use any compulsion this time, because it was bad form with a potential spouse, though it was hard to resist the temptation to pull the truth from her in one quick tug.

One of her hands fluttered up in an “it’s nothing” gesture, but she turned her face to the fire. Her glasses caught the flame and hid her eyes. He thought she might not answer at all, but then she said, quietly, “Big change is hard, you know? Tonight marks the start of a big change for me. Everything is going to be okay, I know that. It’s just that it’s real now, and there’s no going back, and I’m missing some things already. Which is stupid.” She took a deep pull on her beer and turned to face him again. “Really, I’m okay.”

Gregor had a hard time believing she was talking about a leave of absence.

She hardened up again, and lifted a brow. “Don’t glower at me like that, Faustin. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Crispy shell, candy center. He should have known all along, he would have if she wasn’t so good at annoying him.

Like now.

“So, Lord of Sulk, tell me something,” she said. It wasn’t a request. It was a command, calculated to set him off balance. But he was on to her now, and he gave her his most accommodating smile.

“What do you want to know?”

At that, her face lit up with mischief. She wanted to know if he was a vamp, but he doubted she had the balls to ask directly. As he expected, she went fishing.

“Well, why don’t you tell me about your family?”

Because vampyr don’t have families? “I’ve got two brothers, both live in the city. My folks live in Brooklyn. They’ve been there forever. In Kensington, by the park. That’s where I grew up.”

He watched her process this. Nope, he was not born in 1725, the son of a minor Scottish laird. Sorry.

“And you’re…close with your family?”

Nope, he wasn’t created by some ancient Nosferatu and doomed to wander the sewers in tortured isolation. Ma and Pop Faustin made him the old fashioned way, but he really didn’t want to think about that too much.

“Yes, we’re all very close. My folks are great, both of them are very…Old World. My brothers and I are tight. Sure, we fight sometimes, but they know I’d do anything for them.”

The expression on her face made him want to crack up. She thought she had him all figured out, and now she was trying to regroup. God he loved teasing her. But there was a point to it. It was a good thing that she was open-minded about the existence of his world—that was one hurdle he didn’t have to face—but she would also be full of misinformation about vamps too, and that had to be corrected.

She gave him a long look, chewing on the inside of her left cheek. Somehow she reminded him of a gunslinger. “What’s your favorite food, Faustin?”

He threw his head back and laughed. Half a pint of lager had made him drunk.

Madelena grinned triumphantly. “Come on, Faustin. You have to answer.”

The answer was you. Her life’s blood was all he wanted, all he needed. If they mated, for the first few weeks he’d feed lightly off her every day, and need no more than that. By feeding on her, he’d learn the contents of her soul, and her blood would possess his body and bind them for life.

But that’s not what he said. That was a little heavy for a first date. He frowned, as if he was pondering the question. “It’s a tossup between the blood of virgins and blood of infants.”

Her mouth dropped open. It was a glorious thing to see. She had what she wanted and didn’t know what to do with it. When she spoke, each word was far apart. “You—are—shitting—me.”

“You’re right, I am.” Mistrust on her face now. Lovely. “Babies aren’t worth the effort and virgins are boring.”

Now she laughed, and even clapped her hands together with delight. “I’ve always wondered—always wanted—this is fantastic! You’re not shitting me? Really? Tell me, are there werewolves too? Demons? Can you turn into anything you want? Are you dead?”

Gregor grabbed onto the last question like the last car on a passing train. “Dead? How could I run a nightclub if I were dead?”

“Undead, I mean.”

“Undead. I fucking hate that term. You’re either dead or you’re alive, and the difference is pretty obvious. Being undead is like being a little pregnant. Impossible.”

“I’d like to think there are all sorts of in-between states, places we don’t know, or understand.”

“Maybe there are such places, Madelena, but I don’t know them.” As he spoke, he watched the sadness take hold of her again. He would do anything to bring back her smile, but he didn’t know what to say.

Fortunately, the sadness did not linger long before her curiosity got the best of her. “And your brothers are…too?”

“Yep, the whole family.”

“So you were born the way you are? It’s an…inherited thing?”

“That’s right. We’re all natural. Organic, even.”

The smile was back. Thank God. “Wow. Just think, bratty little vampire kids. What a nightmare that would be.”

Gregor rolled his eyes at a few choice memories. Alex projectile vomiting an entire bucket of popcorn on their Aunt Sophie. Or Mikhail dragging a Mormon missionary into their house, the plan being to hide him in their room and use him as a convenient snack dispenser. Gregor had made his own misguided attempts to fly. But that had been Mikhail’s fault. “Talk to my mother about it. She’s a little nuts, and that’s probably why.”

“When—”

“Hey, I think I get to ask a question now.” This vamp stuff was turning out to be great Madelena bait, and he wasn’t going to blow his wad all at once.

“Just one more.” A blush spread up her cheeks. “When we are together, do you want to…I don’t know how to put it.”

“Taste you.” His voice was so hoarse it was embarrassing, and he knew there was no hiding the truth from her. “Yes. But I’d only do it if you asked for it. And it’s not like I’d kill you or anything. None of that movie crap. It would just be…nice.”

“I see.” Her blush turned deeper. He ought to have been pleased to see her so shaken up, but he was just as confused, or embarrassed, or whatever it was. It was not pleasant. He felt like a lecher for wanting her as much as he did.

“Now can I ask my question?” he asked and she made a faint gesture of agreement, keeping her eyes on her beer. “Would you ever consider dating a vampyr?”

She burst into tears.