Page 1 of Inked & Bloodbound
1
CASSINI
When you're caught between two worlds, there's no such thing as neutral territory. But on short notice, Randy's Bar is about as close to no man's land as I can get.
I choose the shittiest booth furthest from the door—the one with the shattered lamp that faces the bathroom—and make a beeline straight for it, slipping past the rowdy underage drinkers undetected. I'm always grateful for human incompetence; ever since, this pitch-black corner has been the perfect place to discuss shady shit in hushed tones.
It's a terrible place to have a heightened sense of smell. Every time the bathroom door opens it makes my jaw clench in revulsion. That’s the problem when you swear an oath in blood. Choice becomes a luxury you seldom get to make, but I know it'll all be over soon.
It has to be.
I glance down to the black vein in my wrist, thankfully hidden by tattoos, spreading under my skin, and trace it with my thumb. It’s started. The rot has taken root. I’ll only get weaker from here.
This needs to end. All of it. No more dive bar dealings, no more playing politics, no more chasing shadows.
Once I've slid into the sticky booth, I bury myself in the shadows, searching the room for anyone who could be a threat. The low hum of stoner rock thumps through the rickety speakers propped behind the bar. Melvins, probably. It's not to my taste, but I know this music well because they play it all day back at the shop. The dirty hum of guitars matches the frequency of a tattoo gun droning from dusk to dawn.
There's a hint of familiarity in the air, and I recognize it as the owner's diabetes-sweetened blood from across the bar—distinctive enough to stink of cotton candy and rotten molars. He cracks a beer open with his brittle teeth and downs the whole thing in one. He's seen me, but it's fine. Randy's used to guarding secrets; that's practically his whole business model. In this town, a dive bar owner with loose lips is a dead one.
More importantly, there are none of my kind here, nor have they visited recently. I’d catch their scent lingering if they had. I expected as much coming this far uptown, but my shoulders still drop a few inches when I confirm it. Good. I'm not in the mood for a pissing contest, and right now I'm not sure I'm strong enough to fight for the sake of fighting.
Restless energy courses through me, so I take out my sketchbook as a distraction. It feels good to keep my hands busy instead of watching the clock. As soon as this meeting is done, I’ll slink back to the tattoo shop before anyone suspects I'm gone. The boss has eyes and ears everywhere, and lately I've been a walking red flag.
A shrill noise shreds through the steady hum of the bar, and it sets my fangs on edge. It belongs to the blonde in the cut-off jean shorts perched on the pool table. A tangle of frayed denim threads clings to her bruised legs as she gulps from a huge pitcher of beer. She playfully swats a nearby meathead across the chest and laughs again, sending the sharp sound ricocheting off the walls and disturbing the relative peace.
The jock moves between her dappled thighs and pushes her knees apart so he's pressed up against her, and she responds by hooking him with her ankles and pulling him closer. With a clumsyfist, he grabs the jug of cheap beer by the handle and chugs the remainder before leaning back and letting out a long, disgusting belch.
She kind of looks like someone. Someone I'm looking for. I wonder if Beau will see the resemblance too. She's about the right age, same build, similar features, but it's not her. The girl I'm looking for is dead, or as close to dead as it gets.
The entrance swings open, and everyone in the place pauses to size up the new arrival, but he doesn't flinch.
My guest, Beau Fontaine, is dressed like he's come straight from the golf course. He strides toward me and sucks all the oxygen out of the room—which is pretty impressive for a middle-aged man dressed in a fitted navy polo shirt and beige slacks.
Beau wears the easy confidence of the authority he used to wield. I guess it’s true you can take the cop out of the force, but you can't force the cop out of the man. He walks with his chin pitched up and his broad shoulders pulled back. That granite jaw of his is permanently fixed in a scowl, and when he slides into the booth, beer in hand, he's characteristically on edge.
"When the hell did you get here?" he asks without meeting my eyes; instead, they dart around the room as he takes a swig of beer.
I don't know why he's so nervous. He's burned all his bridges, but cutting deals and exchanging information with an ex-cop-turned-vampire-hunter will only hurtmyalready shaky reputation in this town.
"Good to see you, too."
He grumbles. "So, you got anything for me?"
"You've got to stop making me do this shit, Beau," I say, shaking my head. "I'm still trying to get the 6th Clan to trust me, but they're paranoid as hell, and every time you drag me away, it gets riskier."
He glares at me. "Cassini, I don't need a whole fucking sob story. I just need results. What's the latest?"
I try to keep the irritation out of my voice. "It's the same as it was last time, and the time before. I still don't know exactly where they're keeping her. Or if they even still have her.” I pause and suck a sharpbreath between my teeth, knowing he won’t want to hear the next part. “Or if she's even still alive."
He throws his head back and drains the remainder of his beer in one gulp, then makes a move to leave.
"That's it?" I ask. So typical of Beau to drag me down here on some power trip. "I'm restless too, but you've got to give me more time. It's not like I can poke around and start asking questions."
He hisses through clenched teeth, "You'rerestless? We don't have much more fucking time. She could die any day now, and if that happens, you know what happens to you. Remember your place, bloodsucker."
I get the urge to reach across the booth and tear his throat out. To sink my teeth into his veins and drain him dry, but I don't. Not just because he's wearing a thick silver chain around his neck. Not even because his blood alcohol level is always so high I'd be drunk within seconds.
No, it's because right now, I need him.