Rogue Vampires - Vampires Aren't Real Part 3

"This isn't anger?"

"No, this is fear masked by intimidation. I want to know what you were waffling over warning me about."

Dmitri hesitated, sighed, and dug under the bar a second time. He emerged holding a slim manila folder. "I'm not a PI or anything, but I see a lot of things tending bar and when I get bad vibes about someone I'm usually not wrong." The manila folder slid my way. He stood back and let me look for myself.

The folder held three photocopied newspaper articles and a sepia photograph, the real deal from Ye Olden Days. I read the news reports, took a good long look at the pic, and lost my cool faster than an unplugged refrigerator. Slamming the folder back down on the bar top, I tossed Dmitri a quick "thanks" and made a beeline for my men.

The plan was to drag them away from "Dracula" by their ears and lecture them until my tongue fell out, and then spank both their a.s.ses cherry-red, Marine and teddy bear or no.

Didn't work out too well in practice. The crowd failed to do its customary path-parting, and I had to fight my way through. Carefully. I could have sent every twink, leather man and gym bunny flying, but that would have drawn too much attention.

In retrospect, it would have been the best thing I could have done.

Because by the time I got to where I'd last seen Dusty and Warren dancing with Dracula, they were gone.

One-hundred-percent f.u.c.king gone.

Chapter Four.

There isn't enough "oh, h.e.l.l, no he doesn't" in the world to cover what I was thinking at the moment. What I'd read in Dmitri's manila folder didn't incline me to look at Dracula in a good light. I'd rather have seen him in the blue strobe lights of a police car, or hey, several. Preferably with policemen included, plus some policy-busting Sat.u.r.day Night Special guns.

If Dracula didn't kill Dusty and/or Warren, I decided I'd kick both their a.s.ses and keep them on leashes 24/7 after I got them home safe.

Which meant going after Drac and kicking his a.s.s first.

I didn't see a back exit, which didn't mean one didn't exist. Meant the way out was hidden. T-R-O-U-B-L-E. If I went right after him, I could pick up the scent before it had a chance to cool off and -- Aw, h.e.l.l. Dmitri. To ditch on the tab or not to ditch? I hate stealing, but when lives were on the line... then again, he might have a few more handy hints to share about Drac.

Back to the bar I went, shoving and wriggling my way through writhing bodies who had not a single clue as to what was going on. I may have stomped on a few insteps, but if anyone asks I didn't hurt a single soul.

When I emerged on the other side, hair ragged and one of my angel wing sleeves ripped, Dmitri looked as if he'd been waiting for my return. He had a highball gla.s.s in one hand, yet another white polis.h.i.+ng cloth in the other, and a grave expression I didn't like one bit.

I slammed my palms on the bar. "Everything you know. Now."

Dmitri didn't flinch, pause, or even blink. "There isn't much more than the articles nicknaming him 'Vlad,' suggesting he's a suspect in the disappearances. But I've heard about dozens of other gay men who vanished off all known radars after one night in the club. Nights when Vlad's been hanging out. No one ever hears from them again. They just don't make the news."

"Peachy." I ripped my dangling sleeve all the way off and tossed it into the crowd. "If the cops brought this b.a.s.t.a.r.d in for suspected murder, why did they let him go? I mean, the way the guy dresses alone should have been grounds for a stay in the local loony bin."

Dmitri cracked a small, bitter grin. "For one, I hear he had airtight alibis and plenty of witnesses. For two, since when do people give a s.h.i.+t about gay men? We dress like lunatics and wander off all the time, don't we?"

"Back in the Village People days, maybe. What are they, on crack?"

"Could be." Dmitri shrugged, imbuing a whole world's worth of bitterness in one twitch of his shoulders. All the same, I saw a glimmer of a lost and sorrowful soul in there. "Doesn't change the fact that no one cares, and no one's willing to do anything about Vlad."

"Yeah, well, now there's me, and trust me, when I get through with Vlad his only alibi is gonna be a stay in intensive care."

I know, I know. Vamps don't go to the hospital when they're hurt. I just don't let logic get in the way of a good rant.

One of Dmitri's eyebrows went up. "You're going after him?" He didn't add any qualifiers about only being a woman or a small one, which I liked, but hey, more important things to do at the moment.

"You bet your b.a.l.l.s I am. Here, keep these safe."

"Keep what -- whoa!" I'd wriggle-kicked out of my f.u.c.k-me stiletto boots and tossed them over the bar. He caught both boots without a fumble. Nice reflexes. "What am I supposed to do with these?"

"Same thing you can do with these." I plunged down my blouse for the nipple clamps, pulled them off and handed them over. "Wear them for the night if they fit. Duh! Stuff them in a storage locker or something."

"You're chasing Vlad down barefoot?"

"I have extra foot coverings," I muttered, turning to stalk away. Then I paused to look quizzically at Dmitri. "The man's name is really Vlad? As far as you know, that's actually his birth name?"

Dmitri nodded.

"Jesus, the things parents do to their kids," I grumbled as I went forward into the breach one more time and d.a.m.ned the consequences of tossing twinks around like bouncy b.a.l.l.s.

Vlad. A vampire pretending to be a human pretending to be a vampire. An actual vampire.

And insane.

And a killer.

Lucky for me the alley behind the club -- what was it called, anyway? -- "DD's Ride"? -- didn't matter -- stood empty. No trash, no quick-f.u.c.k a.s.signations in progress, but no Dusty or Warren or Vlad either.

Not such a big deal. The scent would still be good enough to follow. Besides, with no one around to ask questions I could change my clothes. So to speak.

s.h.i.+fting forms between human and wolf isn't like what they show in movies. Not really painful once you get used to the change, but not an effortless silverfish glide where you melt from one ent.i.ty to another like you should be swinging your glossy fur and moaning "yes, yes, yes!"

Closest way to describe s.h.i.+fting shape is to compare the process to a full-body sneeze, or ripping off a Band-Aid. Yeowch -- done. And voila, there stood a big-a.s.s gray timber wolf where a pet.i.te plump redhead with tattered glad-rags had been.

Much, much better.

I lowered my wolf's nose to the cracked concrete of the alley floor and discovered two things. The alley wasn't halfway as clean as it looked. I smelled vomit, beer, rank sweat, asparagus s.p.u.n.k, and latex from a hundred rubbers.

I also smelled Dusty and Warren's trail. A whine was as close to a groan as I could get in wolf form, but trust me, the sound was heartfelt. They hadn't headed for the streets. Nope, they'd gone deeper into the alley, which not very much to my surprise did not dead-end, but led into a friggin' maze of back pa.s.sages that made me think of hedge labyrinths.

Vlad probably counted on anyone chasing him getting hopelessly confused right away. Hah! Not me, baby. Wolf senses to the fore, and you cannot beat any kind of canine for sniffing power. I honed in on Dusty's honey sweetness and Warren's spicy clove smell and followed as fast as I could run.

I refused to be creeped out by how Vlad himself had absolutely no scent at all.

Smelly or not, I was thinking the vamp in question really didn't have too much common sense beyond hiding in a dodge'em maze. Tracking Dusty and Warren was pathetically easy. I smelled out where they doubled back and looped around. Interesting and not a little alarming: the smell of arousal grew stronger with every step.

Now maybe it's just me, but when someone who dresses like it's Halloween all year long leads you into a city's worth of back alleys, horniness is not the top concern. Which left me with the unhappy bet that Vlad was using a thrall and playing my guys. It'd explain the way they'd looked stoned, and why they'd followed him in the first place. Dusty, alone, might have gone, sure, but Warren? Like h.e.l.l.

I'll spell it again: T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

I'll spell what came next, too: C-R-A-S-H. As in the seriously heavy length of rebar coming down hard and fast on my wolfy noggin. I barely had time to see the weapon, much less dodge.

If I'd had doubts before, no matter how small, they were gone for good then -- fat lot of help, though. Only kind of creature with that speed on land? Vampire. Real, honest to -- er -- Vlad -- vampire.

As the lights went out, I saw Vlad himself leaning over me, flas.h.i.+ng sharp white fangs in a nasty-b.a.s.t.a.r.d smile. "Got you," he whispered. "Two to go."

S-T-U-P-I-D.

"Hey. Hey, you in there. Fido. C'mon, girl!" A series of shrill whistles threatened to split my skull open like a melon. "I know you're in there. You can't play roadkill with me, Fido. Let's see the whites of your eyes."

I recognized the voice, as I'd heard it in the club and on my way down into Concussion Land. "You son of a b.i.t.c.h," I muttered. Or tried to. Wolf muzzles aren't shaped for human speech. Came out more like "grumble snarlsnapgrrr."

The meaning wasn't lost in translation. "Now, now, Fido. Mind your manners or I'll smack you with a rolled up newspaper. Speaking of papers, I hope for your sake you're trained and you have a good big bladder. As you'd be able to see if you took a look around, you're not going anywhere anytime soon."

I covered my muzzle with my paws, trying to convey the right degree of "f.u.c.k you."

In response, he pressed something sharp against my shoulder. It sizzled, and I'm not a big fan of the smell of roast me. I yelped, scrabbled back -- claws clicking on a bare floor -- and hit a wall, gasping for breath. My eyes were open then, boy howdy, and settled on Vlad waving a small silver knife at me with macabre cheer.

Holy s.h.i.+t, was all I could think. Have you ever been face-to-face with a madman? Not pleasant. Vlad had ditched his costume cape, scrubbed his neck clean, and pulled his raven's wing-colored hair back into a severe ponytail. He looked saner now until you put together the gleam in his eyes, the faint curl of his lip, the tension coiled in his muscles and, oh, yeah, the room full of torture implements.

I think I saw a f.u.c.king rack behind him, and I seriously didn't like the looks of his invitingly opened Iron Maiden. Not the hair band. An actual casket full of nails guaranteed to Swiss-cheese you with little skill but definite precision and certain fatal consequences.

Ah. The nails in his Iron Maiden were silver. You can bet this perked me right up, huh?

I had enough light to see all this by from a host of dribbly candles arranged around the room, which only had one tiny window way high up on the wall and, big shocker, silver locks on the door. Golly, wonder who had the only key?

I tried to growl at Vlad. He laughed, low and rumbling and so clearly a fruitcake that it was terrifying. "That's not polite," he chided. "We're all friends here. Why don't you play like a nice girl, Fido?" At my glare, intended to inform him of my plan to tear him into itty bitty kibble-sized chunks as soon as I could, he clicked his tongue. "Now, now. Werewolves. They're always so bloodthirsty."

And you're not?

"Well, of course I am, but I have more style." He could read my thoughts. Of course he could. It figured. "I could care less if you stayed in wolf shape or turned back into a chunky 'ho, but I thought you might want to try calling out to them."

"Worrrf?" I peeked past Vlad and squawked, not a pretty sound from a wolfy throat. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d! The utter, complete, s.h.i.+tty b.a.s.t.a.r.d! He had my boys, all right, and from the looks of things unless I stopped him Vlad could do whatever the f.u.c.k he wanted.

You have what it takes, I ordered myself in a stern mental talking-to. Jaws. Claws. Never killed a man, but hey, he's not technically a man, the undead bloodsucker, so eat fur, mother-f.u.c.ker!

I launched myself up, up and away -- and hit a nifty invisible wall, sliding back down faster than a fireman on a greased pole. Clocked my head another good one and lay there dazed while Vlad cackled. Villains cackle. I don't care what they actually sound like. It's a villain thing. The meaning, not the tone. Vlad could have sounded like a f.u.c.king babbling brook and I'd have picked up on his nasty glee.

One full-body sneeze later, I lay naked on the floor, a lot colder than it had been in wolf form. "What the h.e.l.l? Is this a containment circle? You're not only a nutbar vampire, you're a psycho bloodsucker wizard?"

Apparently, I amused Vlad. He crossed the circle, no problem, petting my head the way you would a favorite old spaniel. "Sort of yes, sort of no. It's powdered silver sprinkled in a ring around you. The guys said it wouldn't work, but look how smart I am, huh?"

"You have guys? As in friends you hang out with?"

"Huh." Vlad frowned. "I used to have guys. Then I got hungry."

"Charming." I struggled to my feet. Took a lot more effort than I'd expected. Part concussion, part strength-sapping silver. Weres really, really don't get along with the moon metal.

Which doesn't make a whole h.e.l.l of a lot of sense, come to think of it.

I'd think about cliches later. For the moment, I focused on Dusty and Warren. They stood facing each other, dreamy as lotus eaters, not really seeming to see the person in front of them. Dusty giggled every now and then, murmuring to "pretty lights" dancing around his head. Warren swayed slightly and didn't say a word.

"Thrall," I accused. "You've got them hoodooed."

"Of course I do." He left off but emphatically implied the you idiot. "The Marine bristles with hostility. Is he s.e.xually frustrated? The dimwitted one, eh. He just got on my nerves. He did go under more easily than military guy, but neither one was what you'd call a challenge. Even if they had been, I always win my games."

"Yeah, and I bet you pick them really carefully, don't you?"

I didn't see Vlad's hand coming. Just felt the power behind his slap explode into starbursts of pain as I went flying over to visit my new best friend the wall one more time. Tumbling into a heap, I reflected on two things. I'd had enough of being bounced around like a rock in a tumbler; also, I thought even if he hadn't trapped us all, the s.p.a.ce cadet, I might have killed him as a public service to humanity.

"I can hit harder," he said mildly. "Want a demonstration?"

What I wanted was to grind his bones to make my bread. Instead, I got my redheaded and wolfish temper under control and stood, wiping blood off my split lip. "Uh-uh."

"Good, good girl. You get a doggie treat, Fido." He dug in the hip pocket of his jeans and dragged out a freakin' Milk Bone, which he winged in my general direction. I dodged before the canine version of an animal cracker hit me and winced when it ricocheted against the wall. It bounced, then rolled gently to kiss my bare toes.

Ugly suspicion time. I picked up the doggie treat and carefully crumbled the stiff meat-and-grain paste apart. Managed to drop it in time before the silver razor-type blade touched my fingers.

"Not hungry?"

"You sick --"

"Sick, sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Is that what you were going to say? I know." Vlad turned his attention back to Dusty and Warren. "Mmm. Looking good, boys."

I had to look too. My skin wiggled with creepy-crawlies. "What are you doing to them?"

"Me? Nothing."

I snorted. "Pull the other one. It's got claws on it."

"Silly wolf."

"Good at spotting bulls.h.i.+t."

That earned me a measuring glance. "Interesting. I was planning on having my wicked way with your ripe peach of a body and then draining you dry as the gin they serve at Club DD, but I like your spirit. I have a collar made of silver, sweet Fido, and it's got some f.u.c.king brilliant enchantments. Once on, you'd never be able to s.h.i.+ft again. Also, for the sake of emphasis, let me repeat the fact that it's made of silver." He chuck -- cackled. "Innovative minds at work are the best. Want to be my pet?"

"f.u.c.k you."

"Not right now, thanks. You're a few sizes up from my type. Besides, I like to watch, and if you'll turn your attention to the center ring, the action's heating up. I think you'll want to see this."

c.r.a.p! I swung around for a visual of Dusty and Warren. There was a subtle difference in their trance states. Less of the stoned, more of the focused on each other. Love so bright and pure it made the rest of this place, wherever we were, look unbearably grubby.

"You're in a cellar," Vlad informed me absently, intent on his viewing pleasure. "We're underneath an old rum factory. Hit its heyday back in the 1940's, closed in the 1970's, more or less forgotten by the city. This would be the part where I'd tell you not to scream because no one can hear you, but I think you're smart enough to figure it out on your own."

"Stop reading my mind." Smug, smarmy, psycho p.r.i.c.k. See? This is one of the reasons why weres and vamps don't get along. We have way too many secrets to be comfortable with others digging around in there.