Stakes & Stilettos ib-4 Page 3

  It was official.

  Being staked sucked.

  Chapter 2

  "She's dead! Sarah's dead!" It was George's voice. He was a vampire waiter at Haven and one of my very best friends. "No wait… she's not dead! She's still breathing!"

  "We need to go to my office," Thierry said tightly. "Now, damn it. Hurry up."

  The fact that I could hear voices was a good sign. It meant that I was conscious. Or sort of conscious. I currently couldn't see anything, although that was probably because my eyes were closed and they wanted to stay that way. I groaned.

  "She's waking up! Sarah! Don't go toward the light!"

  "Wh-where did h-he go?" I managed.

  "Who? Sarah, please don't try to talk. There was no one outside. Only you. You knocked on the door or we never would have known you were there."

  I didn't knock. I couldn't have. I'd been much too unconscious to knock. The Red Devil… he brought me back here and he must have left before the door to Haven opened.

  "George," Thierry said. "Please help me bring her to the office."

  There was a scuffle. I heard more voices murmuring as we passed through the main area of the club. I was being carried in someone's strong arms. I forced my eyes open a crack to see that it was Thierry. He held me tight against his chest, and his expression was tense as he focused on the direction he was quickly moving in.

  "Thierry…" I moaned against his black shirt.

  His jaw clenched and he glanced down at me. "Shh, Sarah. Conserve your strength."

  He kicked open his office door and entered the room to place me as gently as possible down on his black leather sofa. It still hurt like hell.

  "Close the door," he told George.

  I opened my eyes wider. George stood by the door wringing his hands. He was a vampire who was over eighty years old but looked like a twenty-something Chippendales dancer with shoulder-length sandy-colored hair, a tall, ripped bod, and a tendency to wear leather pants and tight shirts. He closed the door and came over to my side.

  "Sweetie," he said with an audible shake to his voice. "You're going to be okay."

  "Really?" My mouth was very dry.

  "It might not feel like it right now, but it'll be fine."

  I coughed. "Thanks for the vote of c-confidence." I looked down at my chest. The stake was still sticking straight out of it. My breathing was ragged. "That is s-so going to leave a mark."

  "Who did this?" Thierry asked.

  I swallowed and cringed at the pain that caused. "Heather's b-boyfriend. He… he wanted me to sire him." I gasped for air. "There was no job. She let him stake me when I told him n-no…"

  His silver eyes narrowed. "I will kill him for this."

  "One thing at a time," George suggested.

  "Yes." Thierry's jaw clenched and his expression was grim. His eyes reflected a brewing storm inside. "Sarah, please be brave for me. I need to remove this stake, and since it's so close to your heart, I will need you to be very still."

  "Do you want me to leave?" George asked.

  "No," Thierry said quickly. "I need you to stay. The blood… there will be too much blood.

  You need to keep Sarah safe."

  Anyone else might wonder what he meant by that. Was George a trained nurse? No. Was

  Thierry squeamish when it came to blood and worried he might pass out and George would have to finish the job?

  Nope.

  I glanced at the bright red blood already soaking through my nice new white lace camisole. White, of course, because that's always the way, isn't it? Then I looked up at

  Thierry. His eyes had already turned from their normal silver shade to the black of a hungry vampire, and when he spoke his words were slurred due to his lengthening fangs.

  Thierry had a bit of an addiction to blood. When he got a taste of it he went a little crazy—to say the least. It had happened only once before, by mistake, and he'd nearly drained me dry. Vampires at his age don't need to drink blood at all, and when they do, it only makes them want more. And more. Thierry normally drank cranberry juice now and

  I'd prefer to keep it that way.

  At the moment, his concern for me was mixed with a healthy dose of… primal hunger.

  Terrific.

  If I hadn't been dealing with the big piece of wood sticking out of my chest I'd have been a little more concerned for my neck.

  "It's fine," he said, although it sounded as if he was speaking to himself instead of me. His black gaze tracked from my wound to my eyes. His forehead was deeply creased. "I won't lose control."

  George came to my side and held my hand. He stroked back the hair that had fallen across my forehead.

  "Just hold on, Sarah," he said. "Think happy thoughts. Really, it's no big deal."

  George had been staked before, and I'd been there to witness his reaction to having the stake removed. Therefore I knew it was a big deal and he was a big fat liar.

  "Just g-get it out of me," I said through clenched teeth.

  Thierry's hands were shaking slightly as he gripped the end of the stake.

  "Be brave, my love." And then he pulled the stake from my chest.

  I screamed. I tended to do that when my insides felt as though they were being torn from my body and set on fire. The stake clattered to the ground, and Thierry pressed his palms against the wound to stop the bleeding.

  "Knife," he growled at George.

  George disengaged his probably broken hand from my crushing grip and hurried to

  Thierry's desk to grab the knife he kept in the top drawer. He brought it over and handed it to Thierry.

  "Compress the wound," Thierry said, and George, who was very good at following orders in tense situations, did as requested.

  Then Thierry drew the knife across his left forearm to draw his own blood and held it against my mouth.

  Master vampire blood. Filled with power and strength—like a well-aged liquor that made a regular vamp's blood seem as potent as Kool-Aid. This was the reason Josh wanted me to sire him. Because the strength of Thierry's blood, of Nicolai's, was inside me.

  No. It didn't make any sense. I didn't feel any different. He'd been wrong. He'd made a horrible mistake and then that bastard had staked me.

  Hell, maybe I should have said yes. Instead of dealing with a stake wound I'd have two grand in my pocket.

  I shut off my racing thoughts and drank.

  Blood. Yeah, it was disgusting—at least in theory. As a human I thought that the very idea of drinking blood was completely and utterly nasty, not to mention unhygienic. In reality it was not so black and white or right or wrong.

  I was all about the shades of gray now. And Thierry, even in a horrific situation like this, tasted really, really good to me. I knew doing this would help me to heal faster and even help to lessen the pain. My eyes locked onto his and he stared down at me, his eyes still fully black and filled with something that looked a whole lot like lust. With his free hand he stroked the hair off my face.

  "Sarah…" he said softly. "That should be enough."

  "Okay," I managed, finally and reluctantly letting go of Thierry's arm.

  "I need a drink!" George exhaled shakily. "And it's not just because I've been clutching your breasts for five minutes."

  "Don't get any ideas, Georgie." I laughed a little at that and it hurt. "Ow."

  "Don't worry," he said. "You're still not my gender preference."

  Thierry stood up from the side of the sofa and rolled down his shirt sleeve but not before

  I'd caught a glimpse of the knife wound that had already begun to heal. "Sarah, George will help to clean you up. I have an extra shirt you can wear on a hanger behind the door."

  "Me?" George pointed at his chest. "You want me to clean—"

  Thierry turned his still-black gaze away from me and walked quickly out of the room.

  George looked down at me. "Feel like a sponge bath, you sexy little thing?"

  After George cleaned and patched
me up, I fell asleep and had one of those prophetic dreams. At least I think it was one now that I was paying more attention to that sort of thing.

  The man with the black scarf wrapped around his face walked toward me. Other than the scarf obliterating his features, he wore a very nice black tuxedo. The background flickered as though changing channels on the television from day, to night, to the inside of a gray factory, to a wall of flames.

  "Red Devil?" I said out loud. "What does that even mean? Do you have another name?

  Should I just call you Red, maybe?"

  "Yes, Red as blood." He held a gloved hand up to the side of my face. "We're so close now, Sarah. Soon you'll know your true destiny. It is to help me."

  I blinked. "Well, I am currently looking for a new job. How much does this helping you thing pay?"

  "Every moment you exist, Sarah, you are helping me."

  "With what?"

  "I can't tell you yet." He shook his head. "What do you want more than anything else in the world? Right now, right at this very moment?"

  I thought about it, hard. I looked down at my chest, at the bandage that was there to cover the stake wound. "I want to be normal."

  "You can't be normal anymore. You're a vampire."

  "I know that. But I can be as normal as possible. I want my friends to be safe. I want to be happy."

  "With Thierry."

  "Yes."

  "That can never happen."

  I frowned at him. "Tell me who you are. I'm not really in the mood for riddles or games. It's been a rough night."

  "This isn't a game." He attempted to put his arms around me in an odd, stifling hug, but he was pulled back before he touched me. Thierry stood behind him.

  "Sarah," Thierry said. "Is he trying to make you do something you don't want to do? You can tell me."

  I opened my mouth but found I couldn't reply to him.

  Thierry took a step closer to me, but the Red Devil grabbed him, turned him around, and then sank a wooden stake into his chest. I let out a horrified scream.

  Thierry met my gaze. "Why did you help him, Sarah?"

  I shook my head. "I… I didn't mean to. I love you, Thierry!"

  He whispered something that I couldn't hear and then he disintegrated before my eyes.

  "No!" I cried.

  My dreams about Thierry—prophetic or not—always seemed to end with him getting staked. But it hadn't happened in real life. It wouldn't happen. I wouldn't let it.

  It was just a dream.

  I would be normal. I would be happy.

  I would.

  "Ow," was my first word upon waking up. There was a cool cloth pressed to my forehead.

  George blinked down at me.

  "Morning, sunshine," he said to me, and then, "She's awake."

  "Good." Thierry was back in the room, his eyes now returned to their normal silvery shade of gray. His arms were crossed and he frowned deeply. "How are you feeling, Sarah?"

  "Like I should be checking my spleen for splinters."

  "Can you sit up?"

  "I don't know."

  His right hand was on my shoulder, the other on my back, and he supported me as I slowly brought myself up to a sitting position. It hurt, but not as much as I would have thought it would. He sat beside me so I could lean against him.

  "Yes, sitting I can apparently manage," I said.

  Thierry reached over to undo the top buttons on his spare black shirt, which I now wore, and he peeled the bandage away from my chest. My bra and camisole were ruined and had been thrown into the garbage.

  "You're already starting to heal." His warm fingers stroked softly over my bare left breast.

  I sucked in a quick breath. My chest ached from my wound, but it didn't stop the rest of my body from tightening with desire at his touch. "Good to know."

  He didn't remove his hand. We stared into each other's eyes.

  George cleared his throat. "Uh… should I leave the two of you alone?"

  "In a moment." Thierry moved his hand away so he could replace the bandage. "Sarah, I went outside to see if I could find Heather and her boyfriend."

  "Did you find them?"

  "Yes." He stood up from the sofa. "A man, whom I am assuming is the boyfriend, was left dead in the park next to the remains of what I'm sure is Heather. They were both killed.

  However, I did retrieve your coat."

  My eyes widened. "Was it… did you—?"

  He shook his head. "No, I didn't kill them, although I definitely wanted to."

  I frowned. "It must have been the Red Devil."

  "Pardon me?"

  I took a breath. "Right after I was staked a man appeared. He wore a scarf over his face so I couldn't see what he looked like. He called himself the Red Devil and he carried me back here and then I guess he left. If it wasn't for him, I'd be dead. He saved me."

  "You were outside the door when the bouncer found you. Someone knocked. I assumed it was you just before you lost consciousness."

  I shook my head. "It must have been him. Have you ever heard of him before?"

  Thierry eyed George without expression. George, on the other hand, looked beside himself with excitement.

  "The Red Devil?" he asked. "He's back? This is so wonderful! I thought he was gone forever."

  "The Red Devil is an urban legend," Thierry said.

  "No, he isn't." George turned to me. "Sarah, you just met one of the coolest vampires in history. He's a hero. He saves our kind from harm, like the Lone Ranger or Zorro. He swings in, kicks butt, then leaves, and no one knows who he is. At least he used to. He hasn't been seen or heard from in a hundred years. But now he's back. You are so lucky!

  Was he hot?"

  "Scarf on face," I reminded him. I shifted position on the sofa and the leather squeaked.

  "He was tall, though. And are you serious? He's some kind of a vampire superhero?"

  "Urban legend," Thierry corrected. "That some have taken to heart and perhaps are trying to emulate. The Red Devil doesn't actually exist. He never has. But whoever this impostor is, I do owe him my thanks for saving your life."

  I frowned. "He killed Josh… and Heather."

  "Yes, he did."

  My masked hero was now a murderer. Vigilante justice. Maybe under that scarf he looked like Charles Bronson, only with fangs.

  They'd tried to kill me. I suppose it was an eye for an eye, but still, it was disturbing, to say the least. I'd considered Heather a friend—her betrayal still stung. And now she was a puddle of goo. I guess she was older than I thought she was, since only really old vamps disintegrate when killed. Younger vamps and fledglings stayed in one solid but dead piece.

  I took in a shaky breath.

  "George," Thierry said. "Please let my patrons know that Sarah will be fine and there's no need to panic. And I'd prefer that you don't tell anyone about this… this Red Devil nonsense."

  "Sure thing." George nodded, and with a quick wink at me he left the room and closed the door behind him.

  "I don't understand how this could have happened," Thierry said.

  "I know. Sometimes it feels like everybody wants to kill me." I replayed the horrific scene over and over in my mind until I had to force myself to push it away.

  "That's not what I meant." He touched my face and looked at me so intensely it felt as though he was trying to memorize my features. "Heather was a terrible waitress, but I never would have thought her capable of something like this. I trusted her."

  "That makes two of us." I leaned into his touch and put my head against his shoulder.

  "She was in love with Josh. I guess love makes people do crazy things."

  The pain still throbbed in my chest, but it was becoming increasingly manageable. At some point tonight—or this morning, since by a quick glance at the wall clock it was going on

  3:00 a.m.—I might even be able to stand up. It was a goal.

  "It does, indeed," he murmured. "I don't want to lose you, Sarah. Please, promise me that
you'll be very careful from now on."

  "Cross my stake-riddled heart." I smiled up at him, but felt tears welling inside.

  "Good." He leaned toward me and kissed me, trailing his fingers along my cheek, my jaw line, and then tangling into my already tangled hair. The kiss deepened and a little moan escaped my throat as his tongue slid against mine.

  I thought about my dream, about seeing Thierry staked and killed.

  It was just a dream. Nothing more than that. This Red Devil was some vampire playing dress-up and trying to save vamps who'd gotten themselves into tight situations. Like me.

  Since I was all for getting saved when the situation called for it, I say more power to him.

  Thierry moved his face down and peeled the shirt away from my chest so he could gently kiss the bandage over my already healing wound. I bit my bottom lip and slid my fingers into his dark, nearly black hair. His mouth made things tighten and curl inside me, and the ache I was currently feeling wasn't just in my chest anymore.

  He smiled up at me. "Don't worry. I know you're weak and injured. I promise not to molest you any further."

  I parted the shirt further and returned the smile. "I may be injured, but I'm not that weak.

  If you're really careful, a little molesting would be perfectly fine with me."

  "Is that so?" He moved back up to kiss me again, a little harder this time.

  The phone on Thierry's desk rang. He sighed softly against my lips, and then took a moment to rebutton my shirt before moving to pick up the receiver.

  "Yes," he said, and I watched his expression darken. His eyes flicked to me. "She's unavailable at the moment, Quinn. Whatever you need to tell her you can tell me. I promise to relate it directly."

  My heart jumped a little at hearing the name. Quinn was a good friend of mine. A vampire hunter who had been turned into a vampire. Up until three weeks ago he'd also complicated my relationship with Thierry—Quinn was hot, available, and interested in me—but I'd made my choice. I cared for Quinn very deeply, but I wasn't in love with him.

  I loved Thierry. And Quinn had accepted that by going off on a road trip through the