I peered, and pointed. “See that tiny hole? Needle prick.”
“Needle prick? What does that mean?”
“Reginald has one, too. Same place. It means that neither Reg nor Emerson died the way we thought they did.”
Pike was fingering Emerson’s chart and I could see his lips move as he read. That should have been enough for me to shake him off but there was something charming and sweet about the way his lips moved, little bursts of breath puffing at every other word. “Well, that’s something they didn’t say in the papers.”
“What’s that?”
“Drain cleaner.”
I stiffened. “What?”
“They found drain cleaner in both of them.”
“Why would someone inject—”
“It would cause pain, an arrhythmia at best, death at worst.”
I stepped back. “Do I want to know how you know that?”
Pike snapped the file shut and got to work putting Reginald and Emerson back. “Probably not.”
We were able to sneak right back out of the morgue—a happy coincidence for us, an unsettling lack in homeland security for the rest of the country. But, I supposed, as I brushed my dress back down over my thighs, maybe terrorists going on body raids wasn’t exactly at threat level red.
It was one of those nights where everything about the city hummed and moved, but the city itself stayed impossibly still. The air didn’t move and the moon hung in the sky, as pale and anemic as everything else that wilted in the heat.
“Okay,” I said as we walked, “two people are injected with drain cleaner, then made to look like they’ve either committed suicide or been murdered.”
“By you.”
“What?”
Pike slurped the last bit of the purple ICEE he made us stop for through his straw. “First one looked like suicide, second one looked like a murder caused by you.” He grinned, his teeth tinged purple.
“Thanks for pointing that out, Colombo.” I frowned. “And we have nothing in the way of leads, do we?”
“Other than you trying to kill off the competition, no.”
I spun, my finger a quarter-inch from his nose. “What did I say? Look at me.” I jumped back, gave him a good chance to take in my self-styled ensemble. “I would have won that competition fair and square. Someone is out to get me.”
Suddenly Pike was face to face with me and I could feel his hot breath breaking over my cheeks. “Then why hasn’t he gotten you yet?”
Anger bubbled in my veins. “Because I’m a—”
“A what?” His eyes flashed.
I broke his gaze. “I don’t need to tell you anything.” I tried to turn away but his hand was around my arm, clamping down. His warmth shot through my whole body and I remembered things. . . .
Another ink-black night where everything hung still and quiet in the oppressing heat. A rustle in the bushes and I was on the window sill, tucking my petticoats between my legs . . . I felt the air cut open when I dropped, my boots hitting the soft earth below my window. And he was there. He was just a shadow then but he was there—I didn’t need to see him to feel him over every inch of my body, to feel the air sizzle with his vibrant electricity. His fingertips brushed my arm and they were ice cold but sent fire-hot prickles and every synapse firing—and then he closed the distance between us and his lips were on mine. Wanting, tasting. And I was young and I was thirsty and I had never felt this way before . . . then his lips left mine and trailed slowly, with feather-light kisses over my jaw and down my neck. I felt my pulse throb and his tongue circled it. My heart pounded and my head was filled. There was fire roaring through me and it was at my neck. I heard the pierce before I felt it. My virgin skin popped and his teeth sunk in. And when I closed my eyes, everything was dripping in the most vibrant shade of red. . . .
“Pike.” I was breathing hard and trying to push the word past my teeth. Pike had me now, tonight, in this city, and I could feel his fingers pressing at the small of my back as I crushed against him, his hand cupping my chin, my cheek. The city cracked and came alive and I was distinctly aware of every horn honking, every New Yorker talking, yelling, laughing. Waves crashed. The world crashed when Pike’s lips covered mine. I tried to pull back but his fingers dug into me and my entire body was exploding with things I hadn’t felt since that last night, since that last moment when my own blood shot through my veins.
I could feel.
My entire body was on high alert and I felt the hot softness of Pike’s wet lips. I felt his tongue nudge my mouth open and I could taste him.
And somewhere, there was blood.
Too close.
My eyes were on the vein throbbing on Pike’s neck.
“No,” I said, pulling back, pushing against his chest.
“Don’t go.” Pike pulled me back to him and I felt the word on my earlobe as his mouth opened and he nibbled.
My body throbbed. My need deepened. I pushed away—tore myself away—from Pike and stumbled backward and then started to run.
“I know what you are.” Pike’s words tumbled out and hit every wall of the dismal little alley.
I stopped, turned. “What are you talking about?”
He took a slow step forward, his eyes still hard, pinning me. “I know what you are, Nina.”
I licked my lips and all the energy, the heat that had surged through my body, was gone. I was hollow again, and cold. “I don’t know what you think you know about me.”
Pike licked his lips, bee-stung and red from our kiss. “You’re a vampire.”
I turned my back and left Pike standing alone in the alleyway.
I walked the rest of the way home and Pike didn’t follow. I kept my thoughts focused on the murders so I wouldn’t hear his voice reverberate through my head. A vampire. I knew it, I flaunted it—in the Underworld, natch—but hearing the word come out of his mouth . . .
I sunk my key into the lock and shoved into the apartment vestibule. The overhead light was buzzing and swinging lightly, illuminating the squarish, brown-paper-wrapped package on top of my mail slot. The sender had used a whole spool of tape and twine and addressed the thing simply to “LaShay.” I shoved it under my arm and carried it to my apartment.
“Hey, where’ve you been?” Vlad wrinkled his nose. “You smell like morgue.”
I flopped down on the couch.
“What’s with you?”
“Pike knows.”