Vampire's Shade Discounted Box Set

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Inside my apartment, I double-lockedthe front door and checked the windows. It was a habit to make sure Iwas alone in the house. My windows were barred, but that was enoughmetal for me. As much as I didn’t want vampires to materialize intomy home, I wanted them to be able to dematerialize back out of it.

My place was in a bad part of town. Iwas earning enough for something better, but the illusion of safetynauseated me. I wanted to be on guard because I had to be. I couldn’tbecome comfortable. It had been in a well-off neighborhood, in alovely family home, where I’d lost my mother and had nearly lost mysister. No, thank you. I preferred to slum it.

I stripped my weapons and put them inthe gun safe at the bottom of my cupboard. Then I peeled off theholster and thigh sheath and hung them up next to my leather jacket.

I showered. I had to get the acidicsmell of that mist off me, and get rid of any blood that might havegotten on my skin. I killed for a living, but the idea of blood stillmade me sick.

The face looking back at me from themirror was haunted. My black hair framed a too-white face. I had theclassic vampire complexion. My face was smooth and flawless, but along scar ran from my jaw down my neck and ended at the base of mycollarbone. I traced it with my finger.

By the time sunlight began to fallthrough my bedroom window, I was ready to leave again. My hair wasdry and tied up in a bun, and I was wearing grey slacks and an aquashirt. The blue made my eyes stand out. When I was dressed in myleathers, they looked like ice. When I dressed like a normal person,there was some depth to them.

I didn’t take my bike. Instead, Itook the bus to the other side of Westham, where there were flowerboxes under the windows and other reminders that nocturnal lifedidn’t dominate everything else.

Zelda opened the door. She was thelive-in nurse who helped Aspen. Her white uniform was strained by hersolid frame, and her hair was pulled back against her head with nosense of imagination. One thing I could say about Zelda was that shewas consistent.

“Adele,” she said, smiling when shesaw me, like it was a surprise, even though no one else ever visitedthis early. “How are you?”

“Fine,” I answered, but Zelda shookher head.

“You should sleep more.”

I shrugged. I would if I could.

“Go on through to the kitchen,” shesaid. “She’s waiting for you.”

When I walked into the kitchen, I foundthe buttery roll-up blinds drawn against the sun. Aspen didn’t needthe sun to drain the little bit of energy she had. She had morevampire in her than I did, and her skin didn’t like the touch ofsunlight very much. Aspen was sitting at the counter they had loweredfor her wheelchair.

“There you are,” she said when shesaw me, and smiled. Her pearly white fangs showed, and thecombination with her dainty face, ghostly white skin and cascading,honey-colored curls made her look like she had stepped out of afantasy novel.

My sister and I were total opposites. Ihad black hair and blue eyes. She had blonde hair and hazel eyes. Shewas the lucky one who had our mother stare back at her when shelooked in the mirror, despite her fangs, which our human motherhadn’t had. I was saddled with the looks of my deadbeat father(minus the teeth), but I didn’t want to be reminded of him everyday. I was pretty, but looks could kill in a lot of different ways.

“How are you doing?” I asked,bending down to kiss her on the top of her head. I couldn’t helpbut notice her legs when I did. They were thin and frail from yearsof lack of use. Her arm, reaching across the counter for her orangejuice, was thin and bony.

“You’ve lost weight again,” Isaid, frowning. “If you keep at it, one day there’ll be nothingleft of you.” I sat down on a chair that was always there for me,and took a piece of toast.

“Already only half left,” she said,and laughed.

Her laugh danced around the kitchenlike the sound of wind chimes, but I didn’t join in. I didn’tthink her joke was funny. Her laughter faded when she saw my lack ofhumor, but her eyes, full of golden flecks, held on to the joke.

“Stop fussing over me. Tell me aboutyour night. Did you catch any bad ones?”

I shrugged and bit off a piece oftoast. I was hazy about what I did when I talked to my sister. ToAspen, I was a hero, the one who had gotten out unscathed and was nowdevoting my life to fighting crime, putting bad guys behind bars. Iwasn’t going to talk about gruesome death with my handicappedsister – and I certainly wasn’t going to tell her that if thepolice got hold of me, I was probably the one who would end up behindbars. It was bad enough that she had to sit in a wheelchair for therest of her life. She didn’t have to know the gory details of how Iwas trying to make up for my failure to protect her.

“You don’t have to keep comingaround after your shift, you know,” Aspen said when I wouldn’tanswer her. “I know you’re tired. You always insist on thegraveyard shift.”

Graveyard shift. Huh. The irony.

“And what am I going to do for asocial life, then?” I asked, pulling a face. I didn’t know a lotof people other than Joel, my weapons specialist. The other people Imet, I usually ended up killing.

“You should get yourself a boyfriend.It would be good for you to have someone take care of you for achange. I never can.”

Her words hit me like physical punches.“That’s because you don’t have to. You have enough on yourplate.”

She snorted. “Like what? I sit aroundall day.”

“I don’t think I’d be good atdating,” I offered. It was true – men didn’t like it when womenwere better with guns than they were. They had a set image of whatthey thought women should be, and leathers and guns weren’tincluded. Besides, between working and training, when did I have thetime? “I’m happy focusing on my job.”

“What about that guy you mentioned atwork? Carl? You said he has the same shift as you. You guys ever pairup?”

I rolled my eyes. Carl was abodybuilder with more interest in his own looks than in the work hedid. He killed to impress, not to save. And he wasn’t very good atit, either. Not from where I was standing. “I prefer to workalone.”

“What about Joel?”

“I’m not dating Joel. He’s agreat friend, but he’s not going to bring me flowers.”

“That’s because you wouldn’t knowwhat to do with them.” Aspen giggled. “Honestly, Adele. You’rebeautiful and interesting. It’s a shame to waste that on work.”

“What, with a scar down my neck?”

She looked down at her now-empty glass.“It’s less conspicuous than a wheelchair.”

She wasn’t making a joke this time.The cold truth hung between us, all the warmth draining out of theroom. I curled my hand into a fist.

“If I hadn’t gone out to the store…If I’d been able to stop him—” I started, but she shook herhead.

“Don’t, Adele. Don’t do that toyourself.” Her voice was hard, but her eyes welled up. She shookher head and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’thave said that.” She let out a shaky breath.

When she opened her eyes again, alltrace of tears was gone.

“Let me show you my art,” she said,quickly changing the subject.

I got up and followed her down thehallway into her art room. She was working on a canvas of a woodlandsscene. My talented sister could work magic with oils and acrylic. Shepointed out things on the canvas, telling me about it, but theatmosphere between us was still heavy. Everything had changed withher reminder about our past.

Finally, I said my goodbyes and lefther house feeling worse than when I’d arrived.

My next stop was the Martial ArtsAcademy on Sterling Street, three blocks over. I had a meeting withthe sensei every morning at nine to train in combat and self-defense.He was the only man I’d been able to find who wouldn’t treat melike a woman. He worked me into the ground, not stopping until mymuscles screamed, and in hand-to-hand he always put me on my back ifI didn’t defend myself like a man. It was the kind of training Ineeded. Hard, merciless.

We worked on fitness training firstthis morning, and he had me in a good sweat. I was fit andbattle-ready, but he still wore me out. In hand-to-hand I went allout on him. I had pent-up frustration and anger to spare, and he wasthe one person who would fight back but still criticize me even whenI’d won. He put me on the floor after my failed attempt to pin him,and knocked the wind out of me.

When he stood over me, his eyebrowsrose. Standing up, he was shorter than I was, but from this angle helooked larger than life. He kept his head bald, and he made up forhis lack of height with muscle bulk and tone.

I looked down and saw that my shirt hadridden up, exposing my stomach. I had a well-toned stomach, but abruise was wrapped like a decoration around my ribs. It must havehappened sometime after I’d ditched my bike.

“You been looking for trouble?” heasked. With my skill set, he knew I wasn’t likely to get mugged.

“Been street fighting again,” Ijoked. “I needed a little money on the side.”

He grinned to cover up his concern, butit was still visible when we faced off for the next round.

When we were done, I collapsed on themat, breathing hard and sweating.

“You really went all out today,” Isaid. My ribs hurt every time I inhaled. I tried to breathe aroundthe pain. Ignoring it worked most of the time.

Sensei sat down next to me,cross-legged, like he was going to meditate. “You want to tell mewhat those bruises are about?”

I didn’t, really, but there weretimes people wouldn’t let something go, and I had seen Sensei’sfighting skills. If his personality matched his methods, he wasn’tone to let go.

I shrugged. “Occupational hazard,”I finally answered. “I don’t really have a desk job.”

“I figured that,” he said. “Areyou in some kind of trouble?”

If he meant my life, then yes. I was insome kind of trouble every day. But that wasn’t something I couldjust get out of the way. He wouldn’t understand.

“No. I just went about something thewrong way. It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, it looks real complicated.Look, all I know is that you’ll still bleed, no matter how long andhard you train to fight. Watch your back, okay? I don’t want tohave to fill this slot with someone else because you didn’t make itthrough.”

“Nice of you to care.”

I didn’t do caring and affection.Those things were dangerous, disguises that made me feel like therewere no enemies to watch my back for. Trust. That was the killer. Andtrust and love went hand in hand.

“It would be nice for you to try,too,” he said, and got up.

Chaos averted, I told myself. It waseasy to keep my cover if people didn’t probe too much. But therewas warmth in the emptiness he’d left behind. Not a lot of peoplegave a s**t, which was why I didn’t, either. I rolled onto mystomach and pushed myself up off the mat, fighting the urge to try toshake off the warmth like a dog.

By noon, I was back home. I found myblack chain and looped it in a figure eight over my chest andshoulders. Then I headed out for a run, pushing myself past screamingmuscles and aching bones. Half an hour in the dead neighborhood.

When that was done, I hit the showeragain. I finished off with a protein shake – nothing like anafter-training snack that tastes like cardboard – and crawled intobed. I was aching from the injuries and the training, but thethrobbing pain reminded me that I was alive, and I had to stay thatway.

My fingers curled around the butt ofthe Glock under my pillow, and only then did I relax. Usually myenemies were dead by the time I walked away, but I never knew who Ihad pissed off in the process.

I kept a low profile, but luck favorsthe prepared.