Raised in Fire (Page 10)

“Magical police, Reagan?” J.M.’s eyes were tight.

“My bad. Look, you’ll come to grips with it eventually. I mean, you’ve gotten this far in a couple hours. That’s huge.”

“How could I not? I saw that guy change.”

“Most people would think an animal did it.”

“The rest of my department, yeah. Sean spun that tale and they ate it up.” He shook his head. “Look, Reagan, would you go to dinner with me? I’d love some insider perspective on this.”

No was on the tip of my tongue, but his gaze was imploring me to help him. To give him a hand up out of the pit he’d fallen into. I felt bad for the guy, since I was basically the reason he’d landed in this mess. If not for my impatience, Sean would’ve let him keep his sanity for a while longer.

“Sure,” I said with a sigh. “When?”

Gratitude and longing both crossed his face, and I felt a weird pang. Like maybe going out with him wouldn’t be so bad. “Whenever you want. Tomorrow night?”

A seething presence took up real estate behind me. J.M.’s eyes widened.

Ah yes. I’d forgotten about Mr. Overprotective there for a second.

I glanced behind me, confirming that Darius stood there. His face was shut down into a hard mask, and his bearing was clearly intended to display his size and power.

“Don’t mind him,” I said, turning back. “He’s like a stray cat.”

“Is this your—” J.M. gestured at Darius.

“Yes, I am her—”

“Nope,” I said. “I don’t know what he was going to say, but—”

“You are my—”

“Nope.” I cut my hand through the air to stop him again. “He’s a vampire who is cooking me dinner. Strange, but true. There is literally nothing else going on here, trust me. He will leave right after dinner.”

J.M.’s eyes drifted to my robe.

Dang it. Timing was never on my side.

“Anyway.” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Give me your phone and I’ll put my number in it. You can text me.” I quickly inputted my digits and name and handed it back. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

With a furrowed brow, he nodded, said goodbye, and then slowly worked his way down the steps. He glanced back before he crossed the street. His car had to be the Mustang parked on the other side. This hadn’t been a business call, though I’d already guessed as much from the lost look in his eyes.

“Well, that was weird.” I closed the door.

“Reagan, that human cannot treat you how you need to be treated,” Darius said.

“Number one, it isn’t a date, it’s a counseling session to help him come to grips with magical stuff. Number two, I would ask how you think I should be treated, but you’ll just—”

“Like the priceless treasure you are.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say, but while I might be priceless, my worth to you is definitely quantifiable. You know what you’ll gain by using me, which is why I suspect you are guarding me so closely. But that human doesn’t want anything except comfort. He can’t use me, especially since I just got fired. Or am about to be fired, one or the other. He’s looking for normalcy. So am I. Save it.”

His jaw clenched.

“Truth bomb,” I muttered, leaning against the wall. Silence descended, thick and heavy. “Let me guess,” I ventured, “are you going to trash my dinner and storm out of here?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re hungry.” He stepped aside graciously and put out his hand, motioning me into the kitchen. “Or would you prefer a stand on which to eat your meal in front of the TV like a modern-day barbarian?”

I tapped my chin. “Well, when you put it like that, in front of the TV sounds great.”

Mere seconds later, my eyes widened when he brought in a TV tray laden with a gourmet place setting. A heaping plate took up the center, with a glistening steak resting on mashed potatoes and accompanied by string beans. A small bowl of salad and a piece of baguette sat to one side, and an array of silverware spanned out on the other—two knives, one for meat and one for buttering the bread, and two forks of different sizes. A glass of red wine sat next to a sweating glass of sparkling water, and a crystal vase holding a single red rose adorned the other corner.

“I had roses in my kitchen?” I asked as my stomach growled. That snack hadn’t been nearly adequate.

“No. I had Mr. LaRay bring one while you were in the bath.”

Moss LaRay was Darius’s driver, and even though he didn’t like me very much, he’d saved me one time from a bunch of younger vampires. Darius did nothing by halves, and poor Moss had to accommodate him when it came to me. No doubt he hated me more for it.

“Thank you for this,” I said, and meant it.

He sat down beside me and flicked on the TV. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to watch?”

“No, I don’t care. Silence is fine, if you want. I just wanted to see if you’d go through with it.”

The screen went black and Darius set down the remote.

“I never asked. Do vampires eat?” I cut off a morsel of the steak and placed it delicately on my tongue. When Darius cooked, the first bite should always be savored, because it always surprised and delighted, no matter how much you had expected to enjoy the decadent meal. “This is unbelievable, Darius, as always.”

“We can eat food, if we must. Otherwise we couldn’t exist in human society. It isn’t enjoyable, however. It reminds us of the real sustenance we crave. It is a battle of wills to eat food amongst humans, one that only middle- or higher-level vampires can sustain.”

“Do you miss it?” I indicated my plate.

“At times I do. Food was one of my loves, many lifetimes ago. Eating pales in comparison to taking blood, however. To the taste, and to the connection and intimacy.”

“Do certain people really taste better than others?”

“Taste and feel, yes.”

“What do you mean, feel?”

“Some resist the pleasure they are feeling when I am drawing on their vein and often moving within them. They either tense or reserve themselves. It makes for a less enjoyable transfer for all parties.”

“You prefer willingness, then.”

“Of course, but more than that. Complete surrender of both parties. I’ve explained this to you before.”

“Right, yes.” I prevented myself from wiping my brow. Why is it so hot in here? “How’d you get turned into a vampire? You’d said once that you were ambushed. Was that when?”

He rose gracefully. “That is a story for another day. Would you like more wine? The whole bottle, perhaps?”

“If you could hold as much alcohol as I can, you’d suck this wine down just as quickly, don’t tell me you wouldn’t. It is delicious.”

“Bottle, then?”

“Well, if you’re offering…”

Chapter Seven

The next day I marched into the MLE office with a surly attitude and balled fists. If I was going to be fired, I’d do it with my usual gusto. And maybe I’d kick down a door for kicks. I’d rather kick Garret, but that wouldn’t fly. People would think I was ungrateful—or more ungrateful, since I’d already punched him. The last thing I needed, in addition to everyone thinking he’d saved my life, was for them to think he was nicer than me. So far the split on who liked whom better was tied in the office. I needed to keep it that way for the sake of dignity.

“Oh look, there she is.” Garret stood and rested his elbow on the corner of his cube wall. A gloating grin slid up his face. “Does the air smell sweeter today? Do the colors look brighter and the food taste better? I’ve heard that’s what happens when people have a near-death experience.”

I flexed my arms to keep them at my sides. I absolutely could not punch him again. I could not.

“I never did hear a thank-you for saving your life,” Garret continued as I drew closer. Other people popped up out of their cubes, watching.

“Sure you did,” I said through a tight jaw. I didn’t, but the others didn’t know that. “Last night. I wasn’t aware that heroes stooped to the level of gloating.”

The smile slipped from his face. Clarissa, in the cube across from him, nodded slightly.

Ha! Point to me.

“But anyway, thanks.” I patted his shoulder as I passed, making him jump. “Good work out there. It’s good you had my back after I stabbed that thing.”

He’d gotten the credit, deserved or not, so the only way to make him still look like a douche was to admit it. Oh well, there were worse things in life. Tomorrow I’d figure out what those were.

“He in there?” I asked the unimpressed secretary outside of the captain’s office.

“Yeah. He’s waiting for you.” She waved me through without looking up. That was probably bad news. Usually she told me to make an appointment on the intranet and get away from her desk.

I knocked. The captain had installed a reinforced metal door to his office after the last time I’d kicked it down. I’d have to find another door to kick in. Why let go of my favorite act of violence just because I’d been outsmarted?