Blood Lily

Blood Lily

Jenny Allen

Copyright © 2021 Jenny Allen

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books, Inc.

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2021

ISBN 978-1-63710-580-1 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63710-581-8 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

To Jason Ratcliff, who always pushes me to stand up for myself and is the best pseudo-brother a girl could ever have.

Emily Kirk, my first proofreader, my sounding board, and dear friend. Chris Howard, who creates all my beautiful covers.

Eric Deardorff, my soul mate and endless inspiration for flirty banter. Amanda Clark, Robin Sullivan, and Travis Tramble, my test bunnies.

And to all the people that influenced my life, which culminated in this book.

Thank you.

Lilith Adams Series

Blood Lily

Rose of Jericho

The Lotus Tree

Ghost Orchid

Chapter 1

It takes a tremendous amount of force for a wooden stake to break through the sternum and penetrate the heart. Lilith snapped on purple nitrile gloves as her mind wandered to the movies and TV shows littering pop culture. It always appeared so easy, she thought.

After a light thrust from an ordinary human, usually a cheerleader, bam, no more vampire. The weapon could be anything wooden. A pencil, the broken end of a guitar, a random twig off a tree, and they turn to dust or explode in flames, leaving no trace of the demonic monster. If cleanup were that easy, her job would be obsolete. She could trade in her forensics case for a dustpan and a little brush that sponsored breast cancer awareness.

She stared across the large studio at the man, or, rather, the corpse, lying on the hardwood floor. A rough wooden stake protruded from his chest as if imitating a gruesome scene from a Hollywood movie. However, this crime scene was real. There were no geeks with vials of dyed corn syrup waiting in the wings, no groupies giggling in the corner.

The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood warring with the ever-pleasant odor of early decomp. She paused, placing the back of her gloved hand against her nose, taking a moment to adjust to the overpowering scents.

Even from the doorway, the body’s pallor was alarming. Rice powder makeup obscuring a vitamin D deficiency made the most sense. The inadequate levels would also cause bone softening. Although it would make the killer’s work less arduous, it would still take more than a light jab from a ninety-five-pound girl.

The fact that his black shirt lay open with the glints of missing buttons scattered around the room showed a certain intimacy. The scene told a story. Either the assailant had a personal connection to the victim or a peculiar ritual-style of killing. Since this was the first staking she had seen in a couple of years, she was betting that whoever hammered a chunk of wood into his chest knew him.

The body was far too thin and malnourished, devoid of any real musculature. The smooth sunken chest indicated the victim might be underage, perhaps a runaway from an abusive home. Of course, severe-enough nutritional deficiencies would stunt his growth.

His long hair lay across his face in a shaggy mess, complete with a harsh black-dye job. Mascara and thick eyeliner ran down his prominent cheeks in watery globs. His pants were vacuum tight and predictably black. Goths were pathologically allergic to color, especially pastels. Red was the only acceptable exception, well, that and purple or hot pink for girls, but only in trace amounts. Silver chains draped all over his pants and glistened in the large pool of blood. Yeah, no doubt, Hollywood pegged this guy for a vamp. He was probably brooding and sorrowful too.

A beep from her Bluetooth interrupted her train of thought. She slipped little fabric booties over her simple flats before reaching up and pressing the call button. She meticulously picked her way into the room, keeping a straight line toward the body.

Lilith? The tinny voice of Detective Alvarez sounded bored.

Expecting someone else to answer?

His soft chuckle crackled in her ear. She needed a better Bluetooth. "Hey, you never know, might catch you with company one day. Perhaps male company." His voice lost the bored edge, sounding almost energized with liberal hints of a Spanish accent.

Cute. Take you all night to think that one up? She smiled as she studied the room. Nothing seemed out of place, not that she could tell. The sloppily painted black walls displayed makeshift murals of pentacles and fangs that an asshole in Manhattan might call art.

The once-grand hardwood floors hid behind layers of paint splatters, scuff marks, gouges, water damage, even candle wax. It was beyond any hope of repair. Candles and fishnet clothes littered every surface, including milk crates and mismatched furniture that he either picked up off the street or bought at Goodwill. Runaway seemed an accurate assumption based on everything she saw so far.

Empty pizza boxes warred with takeout containers in one corner amid a garbage pile. Guess the self-loathing didn’t extend to fasting. As Lilith walked past the takeout pile, a few dozen bugs scrambled around the garbage, and she swore she heard the squeak of a mouse. The scent of refuse now overpowered the blood and decomp, and she covered her nose for a moment again, trying to readjust. How could someone live that way? The thought made her skin crawl, and she had the overwhelming urge to scrub herself in a hot shower.

Her nose wrinkled as he laughed again. Always a pleasure. So, I’m assuming you’ve reached the scene? Any thoughts?

Oh, plenty of them. My money is on the landlord. The guy trashed this place beyond repair. He chuckled warmly but waited for her to get the goods. I haven’t examined the body yet, but first impressions? A Goth kid took his masquerade too far. Seriously, Alvarez, this is about as stereotypical as it gets. She stepped past a few Anne Rice novels spread across the floor and crouched down next to the body, carefully avoiding the cooling puddle of blood seeping into the hardwood.

Well, you are the expert of weird. I’m sure few forensic investigators get to spend every night examining possible vampiric activity with police support. Especially not support as alluring as my fantastic self. Alvarez appeared to be in his midforties, with a wife, three kids, and the growing belly and receding hairline to match. He liked to think of himself as a Casanova, but he was only a mild, average family man. Well, average for a vampire. He was all bark.

She was more than aware of how devoted he was to his wife, Gloria. They immigrated to the States together from Spain right before the Prohibition era. They were one of those annoyingly adorable couples who tried to set certain single people up with family friends. Even though Alvarez didn’t exactly share that habit, he knew better than to tell his wife no. Of course, Lilith wasn’t successful at turning her down either. She grinned and endured the awkward, nauseating dinners, praying for her phone to ring.

Well, Detective Alluring. Are you going to chatter in my ear all night or let me do my job? Her voice sounded annoyed and impatient, but she smiled as she popped open the metal case next to her. She took out a small thin metal probe and pushed up his bluing lips. Looking wasn’t necessary, but she was curious. Sure enough, a bad dental cap job elongated the canines. The dark red skin at the gumline screamed late-stage gingivitis. Of course, he was dead now, so the possibility of losing teeth didn’t matter.

And here I thought you loved the sound of my voice. I’m wounded. I would hang up out of sheer principle, but I need the test result first. Rules are rules.

Getting to that now… So, how’s Gloria? She still freaked out about Erica delving into the dating world? Her keen eyes studied the wound, the puffed red skin around the stake, the drying blood. He was alive when someone impaled him. She glanced at his hands, his arms, no signs of defensive wounds or restraints. The only contusions she saw were around the cause of death. She carefully reached into her kit and pulled out a pipette, a glass slide, and a tiny vial filled with pink liquid.

Alvarez was more than happy to rant about the family that he adored while she worked. Gloria wants to handcuff the girl to her bed! I don’t think she remembers being sixteen, or maybe she does, come to think of it! His throaty chuckle crackled in her ear as she deftly secured a tiny sample of blood from the wound and dropped it on the slide. Then she pulled a drop of pink liquid to dab on top. No reaction.

Human. The victim, though I think your wife might have the right idea, she stated plainly and stowed the materials back in her case. I seriously doubt this had anything to do with us. I see a metal mallet, and the stake’s top is splintered and flattened all to hell. This took a while, and the perp didn’t have an overwhelming amount of upper-body strength. Let homicide deal with it.

She glanced up near his shoulder. Something torn was half hidden by his shirt. With care, she moved the silky fabric enough to see a photo torn in half. On one side was the victim’s gaunt face pulled into a sullen scowl that was all for show.

The other half revealed the woman he had his arm around. She was older than him, perhaps early thirties, with silvery blonde hair cut into a sharp bob. Her emerald green eyes were bloodshot and unfocused, with black eyeliner smeared sloppily around them. Her cupid face pulled into an almost hysterical smile that shouted intoxication. Maybe she was trying to reclaim her youth with a younger guy and a bit of kink. Perhaps playing vampire hadn’t been the fantasy she thought it would be.

Hey, Alvarez, you may want to include that the victim most likely knew his attacker. It might be an ex-girlfriend. The perp probably drugged him or knocked him unconscious. I didn’t check for any head wounds, but he didn’t struggle, and he was alive when someone decided to pound a stake through his heart.

She tugged off her gloves and stowed everything neatly into the aluminum kit. She grabbed the case and headed out of the room, careful to stay in the same straight path as Alvarez chirped in her ear again. Done, sent the info over to them. These vampiric cases keep popping up lately, kids staking each other or getting dental implants and biting each other. All because of this stupid media hype. My kids are fighting over team vampire or team werewolf! If I have to sit through another of those stupid movies again with that damn Jarrod’s Jewelry action figure, I swear—

Alvarez. She had to cut him off, or his pop culture rant would never end. Preaching to the choir, man. That Jarrod’s Jewelry line was damn awesome, though. I’m going to use that. Anyway, I gotta head out. Take care and tell Gloria she owes me some cookies for Thursday night.

Oh, come on. Bill wasn’t that bad. He owns the accounting firm. A defensive inflection seeped into his voice, but she knew it was more about defending his wife than Bill, the accountant.

He wouldn’t be that bad if I liked balding, awkward creepers. I thought you were supposed to screen Gloria’s setups.

I am powerless against her wiles. He heaved an overdramatic sigh, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

She still owes me cookies, and none of that sugarless, gluten-free crap. I like the curves I have. Thank you very much, Lilith said flatly, trying to hide the amused smile.

Alvarez cackled. Gloria has nothing against your curves, bonita. You know her. She gets a bee in her bonnet about the newest fad and makes us all her test bunnies. Don’t worry. I’ll tell her to bake those oatmeal chocolate chip cookies dripping with unhealthiness you love so much. You be careful. Night, doll.

Sometimes she wished her race reflected the ones depicted in movies. They were amped-up superhero versions of the real thing. Yes, vampires were more robust, faster, had better senses, but not Superman’s level, only slightly enhanced. Immortality? Well, that was debatable.

Some purebloods lived long lives, perhaps thousands of years, some merely a few lifetimes, and half-breeds only a couple of decades longer than your average human. It all depended on the strength of the racial blood in their veins. Lilith had a strong lineage, but she was still young, only twenty-seven years old, a blink of an eye to her father. She had no clue how old Gregor was.

Bitten vampires were only a hypothesis. Theoretically, 99.5 percent would die during the process. At least that was the number her Uncle Duncan quoted. The human body can evolve to remarkable things, but evolution forced into such a small time frame was next to impossible. The fever alone would kill them. So many changes in the basic chemistry create a tremendous amount of heat. It would disrupt the homeostasis that keeps humans alive and would cause extensive, permanent brain damage. Still, she’d always wondered if it would be different somehow. Now, that would be something to study.

Her thoughts turned back to the case with a sense of deflated futility, another in a lengthy line of false alarms. Only a dozen or so documented vampire families lived in New York City, and half as many undocumented. The percentages of vampire violence versus human crimes were heavily skewed toward humans since they outnumbered them about a million to one.

It was a rare occasion when she honestly had to use her kit. Of course, that should be a good thing. Somehow, she couldn’t put her heart completely into that thought. She wanted something to chase, a mystery to figure out, a reason for her to stare at dead bodies every night. It felt odd to wish for a vampire killer or victim, but there it was. She wanted a purpose.

She slipped into the hall and closed the door behind her. Hopefully, she could make it to the apartment, get a hot shower, and freshen up.

Lilith got halfway up the stairs to her second-floor Manhattan apartment when her Bluetooth beeped again. She pressed the button and stubbornly continued up the stairs. Nothing would keep her from that shower, especially not when she was so close. The dead bodies could wait. They weren’t going anywhere. Lilith Adams.

Lily, darling, are you at a scene? Her father’s voice was comforting like a worn-in blanket on a wintry night. A smile tugged at her lips as she reached the door and dug out her keys.

Nope. Just wrapped up, and I’m unlocking my door. If you want to meet for dinner, I need about an hour. I desperately need a shower.

The living room was all clean, modern lines, modest, with few embellishments. The gray couch sat low with dark wood end tables and a matching coffee table, clean and simplistic. She dropped her keys in a dish by the door and set her aluminum case on the counter before continuing back toward the bedroom.

I’m not sure I have time for dinner, but I do wish to speak to you about something, and perhaps you could bring that kit of yours along with you? She stopped with her hand on the doorknob to her bedroom. Her heart pounded, yes, it still did that, and she froze. Gregor? Her voice was cautious. What’s wrong?

The usual velvety tone of his voice dropped away. You know me too well. He sighed softly and then continued. I have a little something I’d like you to look into for me.

Dad, I’m a forensic investigator, not a plumber who can fix your leaky toilet. I investigate crime scenes. So, again, what’s wrong? Her fingers turned white as her grip on the door handle tightened. Suddenly, she was taking back all the earlier hopes for a real crime scene to investigate. Damn. Careful what you wish for.

Lilith. He used her full name, a startling rarity. I don’t want to discuss it over the phone. Freshen up and meet me after. I’ll text you the address. He hung up as soon as the last word crackled through the Bluetooth, leaving all her questions dead in her throat.

As her mind reeled through endless possibilities, she twisted the knob and opened it to her bedroom. It was a stark contrast to the living room. Vibrant red walls rose to meet gold-treated crown molding. Swaths of luxurious fabrics in reds, golds, and purples covered the room. Teakwood embellishments from India accented the walls and squat tables.

This room was her sanctuary, the one part of the apartment that was absolutely her. Of course, no one ever saw it. Like the most important parts of her, it stayed hidden away, secret. Dates weren’t allowed here. She didn’t want anything to taint her small version of Eden. She kicked off her shoes and crossed the plush carpets, reveling in the sumptuous texture on her bare feet.

After a quick shower, she pinned her wet auburn curls back, threw on makeup, and slipped into the closet. After a longing sigh, she passed up the comfy jeans and grabbed a pair of sleek dark purple dress pants and a lavender button-up blouse.

She shimmied into her clothes, grabbed a dark green coat to keep out the fall chill, and crossed the room. A little red light flashing on her phone announced a new text message. The address Gregor sent wasn’t one she was familiar with, someplace near Central Park. Not a neighborhood for strolling around at night, so after calling a cab, she jogged down to the lobby with her aluminum kit.

It wasn’t an opulent apartment building, but modest with a security officer cost a small fortune in New York City. Tasteful neutral tile covered the lobby, with a small counter set to the side flanked by fake plants. An aging man in a crisply starched gray shirt smiled up from the desk. Lines crinkled around his eyes as he tipped his hat.

Ms. Adams, lovely to see you.

After returning his smile, she set her case down by the desk. Hey, Charlie. How’s your night?

Charlie had been working at the security desk of this building for over forty years. He knew every single tenant by name and thought of them as his family. Littering the wall behind the counter were pictures of tenants, their kids and grandkids, birthday cards, and even wedding announcements. The complete lack of Charlie in any of the photographs led her to believe the building was his only family, which only made him more endearing.

The man shrugged his thin shoulders and glanced down at the security screens. All’s quiet, Ms. Adams. Are you leaving on foot, or would you like me to call you a taxi?

She flashed a soft smile at Charlie. I already called a cab, and it should be here in a few minutes, but thank you.

A bright gaze lit his smile-wrinkled face, and he pulled open a drawer. I nearly forgot, miss. He slid a cream envelope across the counter. Someone dropped this off for you.

She frowned at her name, scrolled on the front in vaguely familiar calligraphy. It tugged at her, but she couldn’t quite place it. She flipped the envelope over, but it was blank.

Who dropped this off? Inside was a small slip of parchment paper with a faint rubbing of an arrow. She opened the envelope wide, but nothing else was inside. A strange uneasiness settled over her shoulders.

He shared her confusion. Well, I don’t know.

She glanced up sharply from the odd scrap of paper as the uneasiness tingled up her spine. How is that possible? She tried to keep the edge out of her voice. Charlie was old and charming, but no matter how lovable he was, she paid handsomely for the safety of a building with a security guard and video surveillance.

Well, I left the desk for a moment, had to use the men’s room. Anyway, when I got back, this was sitting here. I didn’t see anyone. Charlie appeared a little nervous because he took his job seriously. I…uh…tried to watch the tape, but that new guy, Gary, he didn’t switch the tapes out this afternoon. He shook his head with a stern frown. I understand if you want to file a formal complaint with the apartment association. Charlie straightened up like a man preparing to take his punishment.

The anger leaked out of her as she stuffed the slip of parchment back into the envelope and plunged it into her coat pocket. Blowing up at Charlie would accomplish nothing. She couldn’t file a complaint because the poor man had to take a leak. It wouldn’t reveal the author of the mystery note. It would only achieve scaring an old man that loved his job and already felt incredibly guilty.

A car honked outside and brought her back to her senses. Everything is all right. That’s my ride. Have a good night. She flashed a smile and grabbed her aluminum case. She pushed through the lobby doors and into the chilly night, her dark green heels clicking against the pavement.

Lilith stared out the cab window, then dug out her phone and double-checked the address. This death trap couldn’t be the place. She looked back out at the decaying building.

Plywood boards covered the vast windows, artfully decorated with numerous layers of graffiti. The canopy consisted of fading shredded material that only slightly resembled the classic colors of green, red, and white. Whatever the name had been, it was impossible to tell. The fluorescent sign was unrecognizable, smashed to pieces, glass littering the ground below. Most of the streetlights were either burned out or broken, leaving the place shrouded in unsettling darkness.

A small cough from the front seat shook her out of her trance. She checked one last time. Yep. Fading numbers on the side of the building confirmed it. Her father wanted to meet in the decaying corpse of an Italian restaurant.

With a sigh, she handed over the cab fare and slipped out of the car with her case. The air was colder here, and she pulled the green coat tighter around her. It didn’t seem to help. Somehow, she doubted that the crisp fall air had anything to do with the chill traveling up her spine as the cab sped away.

The boarded front door left her looking for another way inside. There had to be a back door or sidewalk access to a basement. She didn’t see anything up front, but a faint glow from the side alley drew her attention. A lone bare light bulb over a faded green doorway shone weakly in the grave inky blackness. It had to be the delivery door to the restaurant. She frowned for a second and leaned against the wall. Why in the hell did Gregor want to meet here?

She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. It was just an alley, an ordinary alley like ones she’d seen a hundred times. The clink of a bottle falling against concrete echoed from the dark recesses. It was only a creepy-ass alley in the middle of a run-down block in a bad neighborhood in New York City. So much for the inner pep talk.

Not for the first time, Lilith wished she had more in common with Hollywood vampires. Wouldn’t it be nice to throw on a black latex suit and be an instant badass? Hey, it worked for that chick in Underworld.

With a deep breath that wasn’t anywhere near as comforting as she thought it should be, Lilith edged into the mouth of the alley. Rusting dumpsters loomed at the light’s edge with empty boxes and garbage haphazardly littering the wet pavement—plenty of places for a psycho to hide.

A genuine fear crept up her spine, deep down in her bones. Something was wrong here. She could feel it, smell it in the air. It couldn’t merely be her hyperactive imagination. Her olive eyes fixed on the impenetrable darkness cloaking the depths of the alley as she held her breath, straining to hear something. Nothing.

She quickly fished out the pepper spray from her case and kept her finger poised over the trigger. With a resolute sigh, she strode past the dumpsters, every nerve tensed in alarm. There were a few sounds of scuttling feet too tiny to be anything more substantial than a cat, but nothing else.

The tip of her dark green heels hit the faint cone of light from the bulb, and at once, she felt better. Funny how it felt like light would scare away the bad men. Of course, technically, it only made someone easier to see. Yet, it was still a universal comfort against evil thanks to the early Renaissance cathedral architects. Oh yeah, her inner monologue was rambling nervously.

The terrifying screech of grating metal sounded behind her, and she jumped, whirling around. Her heart leaped right into her throat and pounded in her ears. She panted for a shaking breath as she stared down the darkness. The air smelled cloyingly sour like death and decay. True, the dumpsters might have been the source, but deep down, she didn’t believe that. The metal scream sounded again, running across her nerves like razor wire.

She whipped back to the door and pounded her fists against it with all her might. She bounced impatiently and kept looking around as the metal screech tore through the air, followed by a faint wet gargling sound. Come on. Come on. Come on, she whispered under her breath as her terrified heart tripped in her chest.

She tried as hard as she could to banish the thoughts of a million different horror villains as her whole body trembled with the instinctual desire to run. Her pulse quickened with every passing second, and her lungs became painfully tight as the gargling sound grew louder.

As she was about to run for the street in sheer panic, the door swung open enough to let her into the bright kitchen. She scrambled inside so fast that she bumped right into a six-foot-three wall of lean muscle. Even in her heels, she had to look up as Chance closed the door and flipped the locks.

His laugh was warm, deeper than Alvarez’s, as he caught her by the arms to steady her. Whoa, beautiful. Someone chasing you? His hazel eyes showed flecks of green, and they glinted with his magnetic smile. One that typically made any woman melt, and he knew it.

The smile faltered as soon as he took a good look at her. You’re pale as a ghost. Are you okay? There was a strong undercurrent of concern in his voice. When she didn’t answer, he carefully examined her, his eyes finally narrowing in on her face. Lily?

She pushed away from him with a frustrated frown. Uh…yes. Yeah, it didn’t sound convincing to her either. Now that the impending sense of doom was wearing off, it left her agitated and defensive. Could you guys have picked a worse place? I think someone is sharpening their machete at the end of that alley. Perhaps using it on some poor animal.

His smile brightened for a minute and then eased into a frown. He leaned back against a counter with all the agile grace of a jungle cat.

Unlike most men his height, Chance was neither overly built nor lanky. He was all lean muscle with a casual air of being comfortable in his skin.

Hello, Chance. Nice to see you? How have you been? Thank you for saving me from the machete-wielding madman. You’re my hero. A sarcastic smile spread across his lips, which only earned him a scathing scowl.

Everyone’s in a cute mood tonight, it seems. What the hell is—

He held up a hand to stop her. I don’t know why Gregor wanted to meet here, and I have no idea why he wants to talk to you. When I asked, he said he needed privacy. That warm, magnetic smile returned as he quirked a curious eyebrow. "And for the record, did you call me…cute, cherie?" There was a faint Cajun accent inflecting his voice. It was a subtle undercurrent that most people never noticed until he used a word like cherie. His head tilted to one side, and she almost gave him a genuine smile despite herself. Almost.

She playfully glowered for half a second and then pulled on her sickly sweet smile. Yeah, cute. Like one of those puppies at the pound, all scraggly and mangy, but you can’t help feeling sorry for the cute little guy.

She winked and patted him on the shoulder as he faltered with a comeback. She ignored his stunned pout and crossed the vacant kitchen to place her case on the countertop.

Harsh, Lily. I’m a dog now? His voice almost sounded wounded. She turned with a smile, enjoying the hurt tone.

I call them as I see them. So, how’s Sonja?

He let out a tired chuckle and raked his fingers nervously through his hair, the bright light of the kitchen exposing glints of auburn. The casual style he perfected could have looked sloppy on anyone else.

Last week’s news. That girl was all kinds of insane. After a couple of dates, she wanted to stitch our names on pillows and exchange keys. His bravado faltered as his eyes fell to the floor momentarily. When he looked up and pushed himself away from the counter, he was all business. Well, if you’ve calmed down from your brush with death, I can point you in Gregor’s direction. I don’t want to keep you distracted all night.

If you intend to list all the insane people you’ve dated, we’d be here all night. Like I said, dog. They both laughed this time, a warmly familiar feeling.

Lilith first met Chance thirteen years ago when her father found him in a children’s hospital in Louisiana. He was a seventeen-year-old half-blood orphan that had fallen through the cracks, which sadly happened a lot.

Vampires weren’t born needing blood. It didn’t hit until puberty, and half-bloods only required supplements once a month or so. Most human doctors couldn’t figure out their subtly unusual physiology. The differences were too slight to notice, resulting in physicians misdiagnosing it as anemia or an iron deficiency. The second one led to a lot of deadly toxicities.

Some of the more thorough doctors labeled their condition as thalassemia. Chance would be what they call a severe case. His blood had insufficient levels of hemoglobin, and he required infusions of blood monthly. The doctors would be at a complete loss with a full-blood like her who needed daily replenishment.

Most of the documented cases of thalassemia were in the Mediterranean, India, Thailand, which makes a certain sense since that area was the cradle of civilization. The families stretched back a long time there without much dilution of the bloodlines.

Gregor found Chance in the underfunded city hospital he’d spent seven years in and took him under his wing. He trained in a dojo and took courses in criminal justice at the community college, working his way through school by running errands for her father. Contrary to widespread belief, they didn’t come standard with badass fighting 101. Those that cared to train did so like everyone else.

Eventually, Gregor brought him on board as his bodyguard and head of security. Lilith spent a fair amount of time around him over the years, but nothing beyond a little friendly banter between acquaintances. Her father never talked about him much. He was a part of the scenery, not an active participant when it came to dinners and meetings—impressive, but still scenery.

Well, as much as I enjoy swapping dating horror stories with you, I should see what Gregor wants. She pushed off the counter and grabbed her kit again.

Oh, come on, kitten. Swapping implies you have any stories to share. He winked and strolled past her through a double swinging door. Sadly, staring daggers at his back wasn’t remarkably effective.

Chapter 2

The large dining room held a sad collection of urban decay. Dirty linens clung desperately to abandoned tables. Dead flowers drooped from glass vases with brown petals and leaves scattered chaotically. Chairs either littered the floor haphazardly or formed jumbled piles. Cracking holes filled the plate glass windows. Some were the size of rocks, while others suspiciously resembled bullet holes.

The person that thought a fancy restaurant would go over in this neighborhood discovered how wrong they were in a hurry. Of course, none of them lasted long. At least five restaurants opened each week as four or five of them closed. It was the social cycle of New York City, which extended equally to nightclubs.

Chance led her to the stairs in the back of the room and started jogging upward as Lilith trailed behind him. The wooden boards creaked dangerously as her pointed heels clicked against the surface. She peeked up to see him leaning against a wall at the top with his arms crossed and a mischievous grin on his smug face.

The price you women pay for those things… He nodded at her shoes and laughed as she flipped him off and stepped onto the landing. Some people argued that a five-foot-nine woman didn’t need high heels, as if their sole purpose was to make a woman taller. She shouldered past him with a glare and opened the only door, closing it firmly behind her.

Lily. The affectionate richness of Gregor’s voice wrapped around her with glowing comfort. She was a daddy’s girl, but she made no apologies for it either. There was nothing wrong with having a good relationship with her father. Of course, it was about as rare as a movie vampire in a polo and khakis.

She turned to see her father leaning against an old desk and took a second to glance around, taking in the layers of dust everywhere except the office desk and the chair in front of it. A huge glass window covered in spiderwebs looked over the floor below. It allowed the diffused light from downstairs to give Gregor an uncharacteristically angelic silhouette.

Typically, he was the moderately attractive man blending right into the background. She was always amazed by how unassuming he could appear. With his average face of lightly patterned smile lines and soft skin, it made his age ambiguous. Even the light sprinkles of gray in his dark hair and carefully trimmed beard weren’t much to go on. He was forgettable, which was the whole point.

Memorable people caught interest from all the wrong places, especially reporters. It was hard enough to stay out of the public eye, being a successful investor in New York City. The last thing he needed was some reporter prodding him on his antiaging secrets. It was getting more challenging to hide in the electronic interconnected age of Homeland Security.

You two arguing again? Sharp humor infiltrated his voice. He was very conscious of the friendly banter between them. Still, a speck of anxiety always accompanied the pleasant wit, and she never understood why.

Come on. You’d be worried if Chance and I weren’t fighting. She dropped her case by the chair and walked up to hug her father. We haven’t gone out in a couple of weeks. She soaked in the solace before pulling back with a fixed stare. So, what is up with the clandestine meeting? I thought I was going to be hacked to pieces before the door opened.

The smile faltered on his face for a split second, and he shifted slightly, sitting farther back on the desk. Have a seat, Lily. I’m glad you made it safe. I was a little worried about asking you to meet me here, but if I sent Chance, it would broadcast who you were meeting. It wouldn’t be unreasonable for one to assume you were processing a crime scene here.

A familiar hint of disapproval edged into his voice. He made no secret of disliking her career choice, but now wasn’t the time to discuss his overprotective urges.

I may be processing one in the alley tonight. She meant it as a joke, but it came out as a flat statement. She slowly lowered herself into the chair with an anticipatory look and waited for him to continue. When he didn’t say anything, she figured he needed a little help. So, what is this delicate situation?

Gregor stared down at his hands, pausing like he couldn’t figure out where to begin. I received word from Spencer today.

The words caught her attention. Lilith hadn’t heard from her cousin in over a decade. Her uncle, Duncan, and his family lived down South somewhere. Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee, one of those states. With advancements in technology, a mass of vampires in one city would draw far too much attention. As a result, they were all pretty spread out. Gregor kept in regular touch, but nothing about his body language suggested a conversation anywhere in the realm of normal. A subtle knot of worry began building at the bottom of her stomach. Is he okay?

Oh yes, he’s fine. He waved off her concern as he continued to try and find his words.

Okay…then what is wrong?

Gregor exhaled and reluctantly lifted his sky gray eyes to meet hers. Duncan is missing. He hurried through the words like he was ripping off a Band-Aid. He’s been spending more and more time at his winter home south of Knoxville. Spencer and Miriah were supposed to have dinner with him the night before last, but he wasn’t home. They figured Duncan forgot, so they stayed in the guest rooms. He never showed up, and Duncan wouldn’t stay out past dawn. He’s too old to survive that. Gregor’s voice was heavy with concern as he stared back down at his hands. The expression aged him instantly.

Could he have gone back to the city? She knew as soon as the question left her mouth that it was an idiotically obvious one. Spencer wouldn’t have called without checking something so simple.

Gregor shook his head. He checked. With the current talks among the elders about going public, Duncan’s disappearance creates a very delicate situation. The only people aware outside of the elders themselves are you, Miriah, Spencer, and Aaron’s son, Michael. Something may have leaked out. If someone abducted Duncan, it could be retaliation. He was deep in thought, running through things in his head as if she didn’t exist. Suddenly, he appeared drained.

Surely, people aren’t opposed to that degree. I understand people don’t like change, but with technology advancing and national securities tightening down, it’s getting harder and harder on us. If our private labs didn’t develop treatments and we didn’t secure small blood banks, we’d be in a world of hurt. However, it only takes one determined reporter to bring it all out in black-and-white. Exposure is only a matter of time.

He nodded with a faint trace of pride in his smile. Not all of us old stuffy bastards are comfortable leaving the shadows. They fear the knee-jerk reaction due to popular culture’s portrayal of our kind. We also must consider the possibility of them dissecting and studying us. None of these are unreasonable concerns. But this? Turning on our own kind? He let out another tired sigh. I want to say it’s impossible, but…

A tense silence vibrated in the air as he sat buried in his thoughts. She glanced down at the shiny aluminum kit next to her. So, a little off-topic, but why did you ask me to bring my kit?

An actual smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Oh, that. Yes, well, I thought carrying it would be appropriate in case someone followed you. Can’t process a scene without a kit, right? A familiar glint lit his eyes for a second. He enjoyed the cloak-and-dagger intrigue, which was almost hypocritical. He didn’t like her working crime scenes, but making some secret superspy meetings in a dangerous part of town was cool?

She narrowed one eye and watched him. Something else was hiding behind the humorous twinkle in his eyes, something he clearly wasn’t saying. Why would anyone follow me?

If Duncan’s disappearance has anything to do with our plans, it is entirely conceivable. I only wanted to be cautious. He shifted his weight a bit. He was lying. He’d never lied to her before, but the signs were unmistakable. The slight pause in his voice, the quickness in his eyes, the small flex of the muscles around his mouth, the slightly elevated pulse. It felt like a slap in the face, but the steely undercurrent in his tone was enough to tell her not to push the issue. At least not now.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to focus on something else. "What about other motives? Duncan did a lot of research in the Goditha lab down south somewhere. I mean, he was instrumental in developing cloned blood to keep us farther under the radar.