Slayer's Prey Page 3

  CURTIS DUNN HUDDLED in the corner of the dark room, fighting against the tremors wracking his body. The scent of fresh blood filled the air in the small room, suffocating him slowly. The vampire hanging on the north wall was so young, so . . . innocent looking. How could he do this? How could he be forced to do something so horrendous?

  “Alfred, come here!”

  Curtis cringed at the sound of the other vampire’s voice. It was cold and harsh like its master’s. He thought he’d met the purest form of evil when he’d made a pact with the devil decades before, but Demarcus wasn’t far behind on the meter.

  “Please call me Curtis,” he said weakly, afraid he might upset the vampire more. Curtis was the good part of him, the new soul which had been given a chance when he’d reincarnated, but Alfred was embedded in some deep, dark place inside him. Demarcus was determined to bring him out.

  “I don’t wish to speak with Curtis. I wish to speak with Alfred. Now!”

  Curtis closed his eyes as the menacing creature stood over him. He waited, fearing the backhanded slap which would send him careening across the small room, but it didn’t come. Instead, Demarcus grabbed him by the skin at the nape of his neck and forced his head back.

  “Look at me, you sniveling little coward,” he growled, his rank, blood-fragrant breath blowing hot on Curtis’s face.

  Curtis opened his eyes, staring into the face of his tormentor. If he called on Lucifer, Demarcus couldn’t hurt him, but he’d run from his dark master, and this was his punishment. He was being dominated by a brutal beast of a vampire who hadn’t a trace of goodness left in his dark soul. If he even had a soul.

  “You will do as I say,” Demarcus demanded.

  “I can find a cure for you without hurting anyone else,” Curtis pleaded with a quiver in his voice.

  “No, you can’t. I am a vampire, and you must dissect a vampire to understand how our bodies differ from yours.”

  “Please, Demarcus. I’ve already drained two women for you.” Curtis shuddered. “Why must I do this? Why must so many lives be taken?”

  “The women are bait, and we needed the DNA sample from the first one.”

  The shifter. Curtis shuddered again, remembering how the young woman had writhed in wolf form as he cut into her. He’d killed her in order to save his own life, even though it wasn’t worth anything. He should allow Demarcus to kill him, defy the vampire and end his miserable existence . . . but he couldn’t. No matter what torture Demarcus promised him on Earth, he had turned his back on Lucifer. He was terrified of what would happen in the afterlife. He’d sold his soul to the devil. Eternal damnation couldn’t be much better than what he was going through in the realm of the living, especially if he wasn’t under Lucifer’s protection anymore.

  “What are you baiting, Demarcus?” If he was going to do most of the dirty work, he felt he ought to at least know why.

  “The bitch who did this to me.” He stood before Curtis, his pale skin covered in a thin film of dark fur, patches of the skin beneath peeling away in clumps. His eyes were glazed over, his lips dry and withered. The claw marks inflicted on him nearly two decades ago were still embedded in his skin. They should have healed the day after the attack, while he went through the mending stage of sleep, but they hadn’t.

  “How do you know she will come?”

  “I see inside her when she feeds. I infected her, just as she infected me, except she infected me with a virus. I gave her power. She fights against the hunger, throws up shields to keep me from tracking her down, but she’ll misstep eventually, and I’ll be there.”

  “But how do you know the bodies will lead her to you?”

  “I’ve caught glimpses of her these last few years. She’s been following a man. Wherever he goes, she goes, if the danger level is high enough. I can’t tell who he is, but I know he’s a hunter.”

  “A vampire hunter?”

  “Yes. There is always death in her mind when I see her. Death and love. I can’t see the man, but I sense his presence with her. He was there in Baltimore when your twin was killed.” The vampire narrowed his eyes at Curtis “And you swear you never saw this man?”

  Curtis willed his heart not to beat frantically, knowing the vampire would hear it and know he was lying. It would be too easy for the monster to kill him, which was the only reason why Demarcus shared so much with him. The arrogant bastard knew he was no threat. “I only saw the vampires who rescued their friends. There were no mortals except the ones we captured.”

  “He was there. I felt her love for him, her fear for his life. If he was there because of the bodies found, he’ll follow the bodies we leave behind here as well.”

  “How long must we do this? She has evaded you for sixteen years.”

  “You just focus on finding a cure for me. She’ll slip up. She’s already revealed her location in Baltimore to me. She’ll reveal her location here while I’m close enough to grab her, or better yet, she’ll show me the man. If I capture him she’ll do anything to get him back, even let me kill her.”

  Chapter Three

  JAKE SHOOK HIS head as he pulled into the small parking lot outside The Crimson Rose. The Bardstown Road area was overflowing with young Goths with multicolored hair and piercings in places no sane person would want to stick a sharp instrument into.

  Stepping out of the car in his usual attire of black T-shirt and blue jeans, he knew he stuck out like a second thumb. At least his shirt read VAMPIRES SUCK, a little helpful with keeping in the spirit but not much. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was putting on makeup or puncturing his face with metal.

  The sun had set hours ago, and from the looks of it, the freaks came out at night. No matter which direction he turned his head, he saw young, pale-skinned, black or multi-color-haired twenty-somethings and teens in dark clothes. Some appeared to have more tattoos than skin; some of the females had more skin than clothing.

  Admiring the view of scantily-clad women as he made his way to the club’s entrance, he reminded himself that as soon as the opportunity presented itself he needed to get laid. It had been too long.

  The bouncer barely checked IDs as the people filed into the dark interior of the club, so the line wasn’t long. It was more like a steady rushing stream than a line.

  Jake found himself inside the club in a matter of minutes. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the red-hued light caused by strobe lights which hung overhead, sending rays of dancing crimson beams around the large room.

  A mass of people were doing something resembling dancing on the dance floor, moving their bodies to the alternative music which blared from the wall speakers. Not much of a dancer himself, Jake moved over to the bar.

  Janie Paxton, the victim his brother had told him about, had been a waitress at the club. She’d been abducted after leaving work in the early morning hours and found dead five days later. Jake needed to know who she had contact with during her final night of work. Dunn may have been a customer, and someone might know something about him.

  Jake ordered a bottle of Budweiser, checking out the bartender while he waited for the drink. The man, thick with muscles, appeared a little taller than his own height of six-foot-one. His dark brown hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, showing off the dragon tattoo encircling his neck. Five gold hoops adorning his ears were the only jewelry complementing his simple outfit of a black muscle shirt and black jeans. He looked like the type of man you didn’t want to piss off, and Jake figured coming straight out and asking about the recently deceased waitress would probably do just that.

  “Here ya go,” the bartender said gruffly, putting the chilled bottle on the bar before Jake.

  “Thanks. Say, is Janie Baxter still working here?” Jake asked, his tone giving away nothing.

  “You mean Janie Paxton?” The bartender’s eyes narrowed, his hands twisted
around the white towel he held.

  “Yeah, that’s her, I think. About five-five. Red hair, at least when I last saw her.”

  “You didn’t hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Where you from, man?” The bartender leaned forward on the bar, resting on his fists. The expression on his face clearly indicated he was tired of people discussing the deceased girl.

  “Baltimore,” Jake answered, and he had a driver’s license to prove it if it came down to that. “I come through here every once in a while, visited the club on my last trip. What’s going on, dude? Oh hell, she’s not your girl is she? I’m not trying to move in on anybody’s territory.”

  “She was murdered,” the man said bitterly, his hands relaxing. “Her body was found a few days ago.”

  Jake assumed his best shocked expression. “Shit, man, I’m sorry. Damn. What happened? Did they get the killer?”

  The bartender shrugged his tense shoulders. “I don’t know, man. She was a nice girl. I don’t like gossiping about people after they’ve passed, so that’s all I can tell ya. Enjoy the beer.”

  Jake held back a frustrated growl as the bartender walked away, and he pivoted on his barstool to scope out the rest of the club. He couldn’t blame the guy. He remembered what it was like after Bobby died. All the kids in his neighborhood wanted to know what had happened that night, in full gory detail. It was like a damn horror story to them. He could imagine how many people had come around the club trying to get information, people who didn’t even know the girl but were just fascinated by her death. Yes, he had just done the same thing, but he had a good excuse. He was going to capture the girl’s murderer.

  He sipped on his beer, checking out the handful of waitresses who bustled from table to table with trays of drinks and pretzels. It had been his experience that women talked more than men. It was just in their nature to be more open.

  He zeroed in on a blond twenty-something with a rose tattoo on her arm and a small hoop through one of her nostrils. Her frown was too heartfelt to merely suggest she was unhappy about working. Maybe she was friend of Janie Paxton, one who might talk if she thought it would help put Janie’s murderer away.

  “Come here, often?”

  The corner of Jake’s mouth turned upward as the low, sultry voice of a woman beside him breezed into his ear. Yes, he was on the trail of a killer, but his body needed some attention too. The woman’s voice was full of promises, and if she was half as sexy as her voice implied . . .

  Jake’s hopes for a quickie in the bathroom vanished as he turned his head and took in his new acquaintance. She was easy on the eyes, all right. Long hair so blond it shimmered, full pouting lips and glacier-blue eyes that met his. Her small breasts seemed pushed up in what was probably one of those underwire contraptions under her two-sizes-too-small, low-cut crop top, and the edge of her red thong underwear peeked out over the top of her low-rise denim miniskirt. Long, shapely legs led down to a pair of three-inch hooker heels.

  And if she were a day over sixteen Jake would eat his shirt.

  “How old are you, little girl?” He didn’t try to keep the disgust and anger out of his tone. The girl had more makeup on her face than could be found on a drugstore counter, and her eyes had that “I know the score, big boy, come and get it” look that no girl her age should be giving to a twenty-eight-year-old man.

  “Eighteen,” she answered with a giggle and had the audacity to look surprised.

  “In two more years, maybe.”

  “Oh, really, you flatter me.” She batted her eyelashes, sliding in closer to rest her hand on his thigh. “Let’s go somewhere.”

  “I have a better idea. You go home and wait until you’re a woman before you come on to a grown man.” Jake extracted her hand from his leg none too gently, wondering how the club stayed open letting underage girls inside.

  “I’m all woman, honey. I can show you just how much woman I am.”

  “Go home,” Jake ordered, pushing the girl away when she moved in to cuddle up to him. He desperately needed some action, but even during his worst dry spell he’d never sink to bedding a child.

  “Fine,” the girl snapped, anger flushing her cheeks a brilliant shade of red, managing to catch herself before she stumbled. He hadn’t pushed her hard, but he hadn’t been gentle either. “My fault for assuming you were heterosexual.”

  “I’m hetero, sweetheart. I’m just not a child molester.”

  “I already told you—”

  “You don’t fool me, little girl. What are you looking for anyway? Money? Are you hungry?” he asked, wondering if she’d just snuck out for the night, or was a runaway.

  “I don’t need your charity, jerk. I’m just looking for a good time. I thought you’d be fun, but apparently I was wrong.”

  Jake shook his head as she stomped away in a huff. If she was looking for someone to buy her dinner, he could have seen to it that she was fed, but if she truly was out searching for some bastard to use her . . . hell, what could he do?

  Jake watched her while she scoped out the club, zeroing in on a guy with a green Mohawk and two arms full of tattoos. It wasn’t the hair or tattoos that bothered Jake, but the “I just got out of prison and am looking to do anything with or without a pulse” look about the guy which put Jake into protective mode. He muttered a curse as the foolish girl started to approach the man.

  He scoped the club’s interior quickly, spotting a side exit. The waitress he wanted to question would most likely be working until much later. He’d have to put off the hunt for Curtis Dunn for a little while, long enough to save the underage girl from herself.

  With a crazy plan forming in his mind, Jake left his unfinished beer on the bar and hurried to intersect the girl. He caught her by the wrist before she reached Mr. Mohawk and pulled her toward the exit.

  “Hey!” she gasped, but kept up with his quick stride. “What’s the matter? Remember how to work your equipment?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” he muttered, heading for the side exit, promising himself if he ever had a daughter he’d put bars on her window and a monitor around her ankle, maybe slap on a chastity belt for good measure.

  “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be gentle,” she said mockingly, and Jake squeezed his hand tighter around her wrist until he realized he was hurting her. The last thing he wanted to do was harm the girl. It was her parents who deserved a good beating. Where were they while she was out trolling?

  He pulled her through the exit and tugged her down the length of the building, rounding the edge of it so they ended up in a narrow alley behind the club. He didn’t let go of her wrist until he made sure they were alone.

  “I’m glad you changed your mind,” she said huskily, laying her hands on his chest.

  Jake forced her against the brick wall of the club, his hand tightly cupped over her mouth while he used the other hand to retrieve his Smith & Wesson M&P .40

  from the back of his waistband. Her eyes widened as he pointed the gun in her face, small sounds of terror coming from behind his hand.

  “Scream, and I’ll blow your brains all over this wall. Understand? Blink twice for yes.”

  She blinked twice in rapid succession, tears streaming from her eyes. Jake removed his hand from her mouth, using it to keep her pinned against the wall.

  “Please don’t kill me,” she whimpered. “I’m too young to die. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me, just please don’t kill me.”

  “What’s your name?” Jake asked. He felt like a monster for terrorizing the girl, but if he didn’t scare the hell out of her she’d run off and try to find a guy to spend the night with, a guy who wouldn’t give a damn how young she was.

  “Chr-Chrissy.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Fourteen.”

  Sweet Jesus. “
What the hell are you doing at a nightclub trying to pick up grown men, Chrissy?”

  “I got nowhere to go.”

  Jake looked her over again. She was clean, sweet-smelling and groomed. “You don’t look like you’ve been living on the streets.”

  “I just ran away a couple nights back. I was staying with friends, but that fell through and . . .”

  Jake’s mouth twisted into something resembling an evil smile. “So you walked into the club tonight and saw me, no tattoos and no piercings, pretty normal looking. You thought I’d be an easy target. Flirt me up and get my wallet, huh?”

  She nodded, her lips trembling, snot starting to run out her nose.

  “Well, congratulations. You picked up a psychopath with a gun. Kind of makes you homesick, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, God.” Chrissy convulsed into deep sobs, covering her eyes with her hands as though she didn’t want to see what was coming next. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “He’s going to drop the gun and back away,” a female voice said from behind him. “Slowly.”

  Jake’s body tensed at the same moment Chrissy’s eyes snapped open, hope shining bright within the icy blue orbs. Shit. He’d never even heard the woman sneak up on him. He would have whirled around, but the press of what could only be the barrel of a gun against the back of his head told him not to move a muscle.

  “I can explain.”

  “Save it. Drop the piece.”

  Dammit! If the woman was a cop, he was screwed, but if she was a cop wouldn’t she have said so already? Jake lowered his gun, slowly in case the woman at his back was trigger-happy, but he held it tight. No damn way was he letting go of it until he knew just what he was dealing with.

  “I’m not going to hurt the girl. I’m just teaching her a lesson.”

  “What lesson is that?”

  “Never talk to strangers.”

  “I think she’s got it. Now drop the gun and step away from her.”

  Jake thought about it, actually considered dropping the gun, but it just wasn’t in his nature to give up so easily. He didn’t sense anyone else behind him. If the woman was a cop, he was headed for jail. If she wasn’t a cop . . .