Page 8 of Vampire Lee

Dillon watered all his plastic cups and looked for something sprouting—nothing yet, but he guessed it was to be expected. Had it been two days? Three? Time blurred together.

He was so tired the room swam before him. Or maybe it was because he hadn’t eaten. Had he had lunch? He couldn’t remember, but he was certain he hadn’t had dinner.

Food. He needed some food. After years of only eating once a day, it was hard to get back into some kind of food routine. Especially since he wanted to avoid the others, and they were eating non-stop, always in the kitchen.

He needed nutrition.

With a deep breath, he abandoned his plastic cups with his soon-to-be plants and headed down the stairs. The house was quiet, and he carefully neared the kitchen.

When he looked in through the doorway, he spotted Murrie at the table with a glass of red wine and a stack of papers in front of him. He’d never seen anyone drink in the house. He’d heard them talk about whiskey and beer and so on, so they weren’t sober, and they went to grab a drink in town now and then.

Murrie looked up and gave Dillon a quick smile. “I think there is some leftover lasagna if you’re hungry.”

What time was it? Shouldn’t Murrie be in bed? Was everyone else in bed? He moved toward the refrigerator, and Murrie was right, there was a tinfoil-covered pan of lasagna. He grabbed a plate, cut a piece, and put it in the microwave.

“If you were doing something illegal—” Dillon stiffened at Murrie’s voice. “—and wanted an audience to find you but not the authorities, where would you host it?” His tone was distracted, and he didn’t look at Dillon.

“The fighting ring?”

Murrie glanced at him over his shoulder. “You know about that?” Surprise was written all over his face.

“Lee told me he’d heard something weird at work and told you.”

Murrie nodded. “Come sit.” He gestured at the opposite side of the table from him. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

“A glass of wine?” It had been years, several years since he had anything with alcohol. “Eh…”

“It goes well with the lasagna. There are wine glasses in the corner cupboard.”

Dillon grabbed a wine glass from the corner cupboard and neared the table. Murrie reached for the bottle and poured dark red wine into it at the same time as the microwave pinged.

Dillon grabbed the plate and cutlery and sat across from Murrie. He waited for panic to take hold, but it didn’t. He wouldn’t say he was calm exactly, but he wasn’t shaking and sweating.

Murrie nudged the glass in his direction, and he took a sip. He’d almost forgotten what wine tasted like.

“So…you want an audience, but you don’t want to be seen.”

Dillon took a bite of the lasagna. Devin knew how to cook. Then he shook his head. “It’s impossible. Either you have an invite-only thing to control the audience, or you disguise it as something else.”

“Like what? If you have a bunch of people beating the shit out of each other, and you bet money on who’s gonna win, how do you make it appear like anything else?”

Dillon didn’t have a clue. “I guess there hasn’t been any advertising for some kind of tournament, or what do they call it when they have boxers doing their gala things? It’s all a ridiculous spectacle. Morons.”

Murrie studied him. “No advertising yet, but that’s not a bad idea. Maybe they’re doing some seedy underground fighting for an invite-only crowd to get some money, and then move it to a bigger scale.”

Dillon shrugged. He wasn’t good at things like this. “If you’re gonna be able to pull off a successful marketing campaign, you need to create a buzz.”

Murrie smiled. “You’ve worked in marketing?”

Ages ago. Now the rules had changed. When he’d been taken, social media hadn’t worked the same way it did now. He’d known how it worked then, but he hadn’t had the energy to look at any platforms, let alone which roles they played in marketing nowadays.

“What if they mean to keep it off the radar all the time, not reaching a larger audience, only up the ante?”

“Then we won’t see anything about it on social media.”

Murrie gave a startled huff of laughter. “Right. How do we hear about it then?”

“You need someone to infiltrate?” Dillon shrugged and sipped on the wine. Damn, it was good, and warmth spread through his limbs.

Grimacing, Murrie rubbed his forehead. “Infiltrating takes time. We need to cultivate a persona, and we don’t have one in the works at the moment. Plus, it’s our hometown.” He tapped a finger on the tabletop. “Who is the least known in the group, and the one who looks most likely to enjoy watching people trying to kill each other in a cage?”

Was it a rhetorical question? He’d never had a conversation like this with Murrie, not with anyone. He didn’t have conversations, and yet he couldn’t look away from Murrie. “Rei.”

Murrie shook his head. “Rei is a slut. Half the town has slept with him, and the other half has seen him hook up with one of their friends. He’s no good for undercover work here. In a different town, he’d be great, but not here.”

Dillon stared at him. Rei was a what? And he’d said it almost fondly. Could you call someone a slut fondly? Maybe the wine had gone to his head. “Even if he’s…more of a lover than a fighter—”

Murrie laughed so loud Dillon wanted to check if the glass shook in the windows. He took a couple of seconds to get himself under control, then he nodded for Dillon to continue.

“Even if he’s…” He sighed. “Even if he’s fucked half the town, he could enjoy a fight, could he not?” Dillon couldn’t understand how anyone could enjoy it.

Murrie scrunched his nose. “I guess if someone didn’t know Rei, they might believe it.”

“Faelan, then.”

Murrie nodded. “Yeah, Faelan. Faelan is better.” He grabbed his phone and started tapping on the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Texting him and saying he’s to look for some entertainment and maybe book a hotel room and not come home tonight.”

“What?” Dillon gaped, which had Murrie looking up from the screen, grinning.

“It’s his job. We can’t have him ask around to see if there is any entertainment down low and have him come home to a house filled with people working for law enforcement.”

“Right.”

The phone buzzed, Murrie picked it up and read the responding text while the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “He’ll start working on getting sloshed and take it from there.” He tapped something again.

“What did you reply?” Curiosity bloomed in him, and he wondered when he’d last been curious about anything.

“Thumbs up, and then I texted Lee, telling him to run a tab and send me the bill. Work expenses.”

Dillon laughed, it was short and rusty, but it was a laugh. Murrie’s gaze softened. It was work to get hammered? These people were insane. Dillon reached for the wine again, and his muscles unclenched a little more.

* * * *

Rei grabbed Lee’s arm before he could open the apartment door. “Someone’s been here.”

“What?” Lee inhaled when Rei did, but he couldn’t pinpoint anything special. Or maybe. There were scents he didn’t recognize, but there most often were. Though not right outside his apartment.

Carefully, he pushed down the door handle and opened the door. Rei tensed as he pushed it open, ready to shift no doubt. It sent a fizzle of thrill through Lee, but it shriveled up and died as he took in the state of the apartment.

Everything was trashed.

“I think we should leave. Right now.” Rei stood balancing on the threshold. “Grab a change of clothes and toiletries but be quick.”

Fuck, did he scent something Lee couldn’t? He did as he was told since he wanted to be able to change clothes and shower. He grabbed his phone charger, some clothes, and his toiletry bag which was always packed with whatever he could need for a weekend away. He’d make a good boy scout.

“Ready.” He pushed it all into a plastic bag from the gas station.

“Classy.”

“Always.”

They hurried down the stairs, but when Lee was about to walk out on the sidewalk, Rei pulled him toward the basement, and they took the same route they had the night before.

“What do you think happened?” He looked at Rei as they hurried toward the manor house. Seemed like Lee was in for another night of nightmares.

“I think someone was looking for something.”

No, it didn’t feel right. “I think someone was looking for someone and got angry when he wasn’t there.”

Rei narrowed his eyes. “Looking for you?”

“Nope. Jala asked if we were living together. Then she went off on a date with Maybe-Aaron.”

“Do you have to call him Maybe-Aaron?” There was a flash of annoyance in Rei’s eyes, and Lee grinned.

“Yeah, I think I do. I don’t think his name is Aaron.”

Rei huffed. “You think Jala is in on it?”

“No.” Then he frowned. “I don’t want her to be. I don’t think she is.” But she was the one who’d asked. “Maybe she said something to Maybe-Aaron in passing. A comment as they left or something.”

Shaking his head, Rei sped up his steps. Lee followed. Shifters might have better noses, but vampires were faster.

The house was dark and quiet when they entered. “We’ll fill everyone in tomorrow. I’ll check the schedule and—” He pulled up his phone. “Oh…”

“Oh?”

“Murrie told Faelan to go undercover. There’s a text. He’s staying at a hotel tonight.”

“I know. He told me to put all Faelan’s drinks on a tab and send him the bill.” Undercover. Lee wanted to go undercover. Or maybe not, since he wasn’t a cop. He was a bartender, and almost everyone in the supernatural community in Hagwall would recognize him.

Rei grunted. “You okay in your room on the third floor?”

“Sure.” Lee headed toward the stairs, then stopped. “Should I report a break-in or something in my apartment?”

Rei shrugged. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

Lee waved a hand and walked up the stairs with his plastic bag in a firm grip. A shower would be nice, but he should try to get some sleep if there was going to be a morning meeting.

He reached the top of the stairs, stepped into the corridor on the third floor, and winced as Dillon’s door came into view. It looked like he’d tried to close it, but it’d slid open a few inches again. Holding in a sigh, he moved toward his room.

It was locked.

What the fuck? Quietly, he knocked with a finger. Had Dillon taken his room? When nothing happened, he moved back toward Dillon’s room. Right as he pushed the door open, the lock clicked, and he turned around.

Dillon peeked out, going rigid when he saw Lee. Then he dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Have you stolen my room?” He said it teasingly, hoping it would make Dillon relax. It didn’t.

“The door to mine is broken. I didn’t think you’d be back.”

“Me either, but someone trashed my apartment.”

Dillon made a motion to look at him but then dropped his gaze again. Lee swallowed a sound of frustration.

“Want to put a blindfold on me?”

“What?” His voice rose an octave.

“I’m not gonna enthrall you, but if you don’t trust me not to, you can tie something over my eyes.” He’d meant it as a joke, mostly, but as Dillon’s brows drew together as if he was mulling it over, Lee figured it was a small price to pay not to have him staring at the floor all the time. Though if he was blindfolded, he wouldn’t be able to tell what Dillon was doing, and he wanted to be aware.

“You could rip it off in a fraction of a second. I know how fast vampires can be.”

True. Lee shrugged. “Are we sharing the bed again or are you kicking me out of my room?”

Dillon’s mouth dropped open, and his eyes almost reached Lee’s before he yanked them away. “I can…” He gestured toward his room, and Lee found himself shaking his head, though Dillon most likely didn’t see it.

“Come on.” He took a step closer to Dillon. “You survived one night, and I promise you, despite you not believing me, you’ll survive one more.”

Dillon stepped into the room without another sound. Lee followed, then closed and locked the door behind him. The overhead light was on, and Lee remembered it had been the night before too, when he’d burst into Dillon’s room. When he noted Dillon hovering by the bed, he winced. “Get back into bed. I’ll brush my teeth.”