Ravenous

Book 4: Clare Point Vampire Novel

by V.K. Forrest

Genres: Paranormal Romance; Vampires; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

A vampire hit man’s passion for a human woman puts his entire clan at risk in this steamy paranormal romance by the author of Eternal. In the quiet coastal town of Clare Point, Delaware, the Kahill vampire clan has maintained its undead way of life for centuries—a way of life that sometimes involves killing. As a member of the clan's kill team, Liam McCathal targets only the worst kinds of criminals. Except that lately, he’s gotten a little too good at it. A little time back home at his antique store should help him cool off—until a gorgeous, exotic woman named Mai walks through the door and gets his blood running hot. Liam's not in the habit of making friends. But something about Mai ignites a spark he hasn't felt in over a century. When Mai's uncle is killed and her father threatened, Liam decides to put his unique skills back into practice. But taking on a ruthless crime boss puts every vampire in Clare Point in danger of discovery. And it seems more than one clan in the area has its share of secrets.

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 353

Sample

Liam smelled the perversity on their hands even before he flew over the wall into the courtyard of the palais in the Marais district of Paris. He knew what the Gaudet brothers were, what they had done, what they had gotten away with for two decades, but he had not expected such a stench.

Liam landed on the stone wall and gazed down into the courtyard, slowly flapping the wings of the raven he had become. Black, beady eyes focused on the iron bars in the windows he would have to slip through. Even among shape-shifters, Liam was an oddity. Not only could he shift from his human form to an animal form of his choice, but he could shift from one animal to another, as easily as a human shrugged off a coat.

Night after night, Liam relived the nightmare and it always began here: the stink of the Gaudet brothers’ sins, the soft beat of his own wings, the reflection of pale moonlight on the old glass.

What happened next in the nightmare varied. Sometimes Liam felt his body rise and glide into the night air, wings spread. Sometimes he relived slipping easily through the bars in the window, a quiet gray mouse. But always the blood came. Always black and putrid, oozing from the stone walls. From their eyes. And the screams of the children. It was always the cries of the children that brought him out of a dead sleep.

Liam started, his eyes flying open as he gripped the thin sheet with stiff, cold fingers, his body bathed in perspiration. Darkness enveloped him; the sheet had become a death shroud and he threw it off. Had he screamed out loud again? Or was it just the screams of the tortured children in his head?

Trembling, he pushed up and off the narrow cot and stumbled, nude, to the bathroom. With a shaky hand, he pulled the string on the light overhead and the single, bare bulb threw pale, ugly light on the mirror. He leaned forward on the stained porcelain sink and gazed at his face: the face of a killer.

Yesterday at the local diner while he’d stood in line for his tuna on wheat, no pickle, he’d heard one of the old bats talking about him. They gossiped as if he wasn’t there, standing behind them at the cash register. She said he’d been sent home to Clare Point in shame. She said that she’d heard the General Council was going to pull him off the Kill Team for good this time.

A cooling-off period. That’s what he’d been told it was when they’d come for him in the dingy walk-up in Montmartre. Then they’d had the nerve to escort him all the way home to Clare Point, as if he would have disobeyed orders and gone into hiding if they hadn’t. Which, of course, he would have.

Liam brushed his fingertips over the crucifix he wore around his neck, then spun the antique faucet handle and splashed cold water on his face. Then he washed his hands. As if he could ever wash the blood off. . . .

He had disobeyed a direct order the night he had flown into the Gaudet courtyard. He’d broken multiple rules in the ancient book.

. . . Even before he had broken their bones.

Liam shut off the faucet and ran his hand through his dark hair, glancing into the mirror again. Black, heartless eyes looked back at him, the raven’s eyes. He turned away. What if they really did pull him off the Kill Team? A hundred years, the penalty for his disobedience if it came down to punishment, was a hell of a long cooling-off period. What would he do then? He couldn’t imagine living here in this silly little town with its silly little problems. Not after lifetimes of travel. Not after the things he had seen. The things he had done. He had the highest kill count of any man or woman in the sept; he was good at what he did and they knew it. The Council wouldn’t really pull him off the Kill Team, would they?

The sweat on his body had dried and suddenly he was cold. Shivering, he went back to the small, bare room, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, then slipped on his running shoes. Just as the sun rose over the lip of the ocean, he burst into the cold morning air and ran, ran for his life, for his salvation. It never worked, of course, but you couldn’t blame a vampire for trying.

After a five-mile run along the beach, Liam showered, ate a piece of cold pizza from a box on the counter, and went down to the antiques shop below his apartment. He’d been a purveyor of antiquities for more than two hundred years, although nowadays he was an antiques dealer. When he wasn’t stalking serial killers and pedophiles. It was easy enough work, a good cover when he was forced to return home, and it allowed him to pay his bills and travel at his own expense rather than the sept’s.

Liam bought things all over the world—some new, some already antiques—and shipped them home. He acquired items that struck his fancy: clocks, paintings, sculptures. He’d bought three Model T trucks in 1925 for $281 each. He had sold the last one only the previous year for so much money that he was almost too embarrassed to accept the cashier’s check. Almost.

He sold the items out of the little antiques shop when he was in town; otherwise, he advertised them and had someone in Clare Point make the actual sale. Internet sales were his latest venture. It had been three years since the last time Liam had been home, but he continually sent items back to the States so the place was stacked tall with shipping boxes, most never opened.

When Liam had returned to the loving bosom of the vampire nest, he’d been warned by the General Council leader that he’d be in Clare Point for at least a few weeks. He was to be interviewed and his case investigated. While imprisoned in the sleepy seaside town, he thought he might as well make use of his time and dig through some of the mess. He had a warehouse, too, but right now, he couldn’t imagine even walking into it.

Thinking he’d start small, this morning he’d just picked a pile of boxes and begun to open them. They were pretty old boxes. Inside, he found all sorts of kitchen gadgets, which he organized on shelves along one wall of the shop. It was dusty, boring work, but he didn’t mind; he liked the solitude. His reward for his diligence throughout the morning was the box he’d just opened. Inside was a brand, spanking new 1936 KitchenAid stand-up mixer. Still in its original packing. If memory served, he had three more somewhere.

Pleased with his find, Liam was searching for an electric outlet behind the impossibly piled-up counter when he heard the little bell over the front door ring. Surprised by the melodic sound, he turned. He must have left it unlocked when he returned from his run this morning. “We’re closed,” he called. “Read the sign.”

“Sign says open.” A gorgeous Asian woman turned the dusty sign around so that it now read OPEN on the back of the door.

Liam frowned. It must have flipped when he slammed the door. “I’m still closed,” he told her, trying not to stare.

Liam didn’t like HFs. Human females. Well, actually, he liked them a lot. Which was exactly why he stayed away from them. This one was stunning: late twenties, early thirties, tiny, with long, dark hair, brown eyes, and a rich skin tone. Her face was oval with sensual lips. Cherry ChapStick. He could smell it from here. He loved the taste of cherry ChapStick on a woman. She looked delicate. Fragile. But there was a fire in her eyes, fire and a definite hint of amusement.

“You know, I’ve been coming here for the last five years hoping to catch you open.”

“Too bad you caught me closed again,” Liam deadpanned. He stood where he was, not trusting himself to walk toward her. If he did, he might reach out to touch the silky black hair that had pulled loose from her ponytail and fell to frame her exquisite face. There was an equal chance he’d bite her in the neck. Then he’d have to erase her memory, deposit her on the curb, and hope no one saw him. He was already in enough trouble as it was. They were a messy business, humans, which was, again, why he stayed away from them.

“That a ’36 KitchenAid? Wow.” She walked toward him with little or no sense of self-preservation. Of course, she didn’t know he was a vampire; they rarely did. “Brand new? You’ve got to be kidding me. You know, this was the first year they downsized them, making them practical for homes.” She drew her small fingers over the white enamel and Liam found himself wondering what it would be like to feel her fingertips caress his bare skin.

She was pretending to look at the mixer, but he knew she was looking at him. He had that effect on women. All vampires did, on some level, even the old guys and gals. There was something about vampires that tragically drew humans to them, even though they never recognized them for what they were. Vampires accepted this age-old truth but never quite understood it.

He blinked, clearing his head. “You an expert on the history of the KitchenAid mixer?”

“Not an expert. But I love kitchen appliances. Kitchen gadgets, too: glass fruit reamers, oyster servers, ice cream knives. I sell antiques in a shop in Lewes.” She looked at the electric plug he still held in his hand. “So, does it work?”

“I ... I don’t know.”

“You going to plug it in and see?”

He was just about to give a smart-ass reply when a car horn beeped loudly out in the street. Through the filmy storefront window, he spotted a minivan. It honked again. Louder.

“That you?”

“That’s me.” She glanced at the window, then back at him. “Actually, it’s not me. It’s my dad. We’re late for lunch.”

“It’s eleven-thirty.”

“Senior citizen. What can I say?”

She opened her arms and he imagined the feel of them around him. He didn’t know what was going on here. He wasn’t usually like this. He was never like this. Not with an HF. But she kept looking at him and he couldn’t keep himself from looking back.

Again the horn.

“I better go,” she said.

He hesitated, then pushed the plug into the outlet and switched the mixer on. The motor purred.

She turned back to him, smiling. Her face lit up the room in a way that made his black heart ache.

“It works!”

“It works,” he said, stifling his own enthusiasm. There was no need to be too nice. Nice got you in trouble.

She glanced around as she walked toward the door. “You sure you’re closed? You have some amazing things here. Oh, my God! Is that a Neuchâtel clock Le Castel?”

“Where?” He followed her to the door, trying not to get too close to her. It was the smell of HFs that he loved. Not just their blood, but their skin, their hair, their sweet body scents; it was everything about them. The smell of their shampoo, their hand cream, even nail polish. Liam knew right then he should walk away. Play it safe. He wasn’t good at safe.

“There!” She pointed to a pile of junk. “Inside that nasty birdcage.”

He glanced in the direction she pointed. The place was so stacked up with crap, furniture covered in canvas drapes, wooden crates of mysterious stuff from far-off places, and cardboard boxes turned over, spilling their contents, that it took him a second to make out the outline of the clock behind the bars of a birdcage. “I think so.”

“You think so?” She arched a dark eyebrow. “You know how much that’s worth? You don’t even have bars on your windows.” She glanced at the dirty, old-fashioned storefront window. “No alarm system. You’re lucky no one has robbed you blind.”

“We don’t see a lot of robberies in Clare Point.” He opened the door for her and the bell rang over their heads, strangely melodic to his ears. The truth was, they had no robberies. The vampires of the Kahill sept owned all the property in the town and patrolled their own streets. The occasional burglar who tried to break into a house or store was escorted out of town by one of its citizens, and though his memory was erased, he never lost the feeling that something had scared the crap out of him in Clare Point. Scared him badly enough that he didn’t return.

“I wish you were open,” the woman said longingly, looking back over her shoulder one last time at the piles of treasures.

The old man in the front passenger seat of the van laid on the horn again.

“Enough, Babbo!” she shouted.

“You’re Italian?” It was his turn to lift an eyebrow incredulously. She didn’t look Italian.

“Sicilian and Vietnamese. I look like my mom. You speak Italian?”

“A little,” Liam answered.

Again the old man blew the car horn. And against all reason, Liam found himself being drawn in to their sweet, mortal humanity and actually chuckling. Even more surprising, he heard himself say, “Maybe another day. When things aren’t such a mess. I just got back into the country.”

“I don’t mind coming another time. When you’re open.” She studied his face. “But you’re not planning on opening, are you? You’re just blowing me off.”

“No. I’m not.” And he meant it.

“So how about if I give you a few days and then I call you? You got a business card?”

“Somewhere in this mess, probably.” He looked around, then back at her.

“How about just a number?” She pulled a pen out of the bag slung over her shoulder and dug deeper. “Why can I never find a piece of—”

Her father hit the horn, long and hard, drowning out her voice. “I’m going to kill him,” she said when Liam could hear her again. “But I guess that’s illegal in this state.”

“Most states,” he suggested.

She poised the pen over her hand. “Give me your number and I’ll get that public nuisance off the street.”

He gave her his cell number, already having second thoughts. But then he realized there was no harm in giving her the number. He didn’t answer his phone half the time anyway.

“Thanks.” She started to back out the door, then took a step toward him, offering her hand. “I never introduced myself. I’m Mai, Mai Ricci. My dad is Corrato. The old coot in the backseat”—she leaned so she could get a better look at the van—“that’s his older brother, Donato.”

Liam held her hand a second longer than he should have. Her handshake was firm, her touch warm. This close, he could smell the fragrance of her shampoo and he found himself breathing deeply. “Liam McCathal,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Liam.” She pulled her hand from his and raised the other, showing him the number written in black marker. “I’ll call. Maybe we can do some business. I’d at least like to have a look at that clock.”

Liam closed the door behind her, making sure he locked it this time. I’ll never see her again, he thought to himself. Just as well. She didn’t smell just of herbal shampoo; she smelled of danger.

“So exactly what is the purpose of this stakeout?” Katy stirred her mug with a spoon until it was a whirlpool of creamy white marshmallow and chocolate.

Kaleigh glanced out the window of the coffee shop that was situated diagonally across the street from Alice’s Antiques. The lights were out. The sign on the door said CLOSED but she knew Liam was in there. She could feel his presence. She looked back at her best friend and sipped her iced tea. It was early October; it would be cold soon enough. She wasn’t ready to switch to wintertime drinks. “It’s not a stakeout.”

“Feels like a stakeout.”

Kaleigh’s gaze drifted to the storefront window again. She hadn’t seen Liam since she’d been reborn. This was always awkward, seeing people again through this young girl’s eyes.

“You know, I heard he had to come home because he ate some bad guys.”

Kaleigh cut her eyes at Katy. “Ate them?”

“You know, cannibalized them. Killed them, put them on a spit, and roasted their juiciest parts. Then he ate them.”

“You need to stop listening to the gossip gaggle at the diner, Katy. Your brain is turning into rice pudding.”

“I’m just saying, that’s what they said.”

“That’s gross. Liam did not eat anyone. Can you imagine how nasty a serial killer would taste?”

Katy made a face and sipped her hot chocolate. “It does sound kind of disgusting. Even for Liam. The weirdo. He’s way too dark and gloomy for me.” She licked her finger, wiped it on the empty plate to catch any stray cookie crumbs, and popped it in her mouth. “Oh, I brought the book for you.”

“I told you, I’m not going to read it. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Katy dug into the backpack at her feet and pulled out a hardcover book. “It’s the best series that’s ever been written.” She slid it across the table. “You’re the only person I know who hasn’t read it, or seen the movies.”

“I don’t understand how you can like it. You said they got a lot of things wrong about vampires. And Bella makes out with a werewolf?” Kaleigh made a face of disgust. “I’ve met a werewolf, Katy. They slobber. They’re disgusting. There’s no way you’d give a werewolf tongue.”

“Please? Just read it. You should know what everyone is talking about, at least.”

Kaleigh reluctantly accepted the book and crammed it in her backpack.

“And then we can watch the movies together. I have all the DVDs!”

“I’m not watching the movies with you,” Kaleigh warned.

Katy exhaled. “Change of subject. You taking the SATs tomorrow?”

“My mom paid the money, but I don’t know.” She started picking her schoolbooks up off the floor and sticking them into her backpack.

“You don’t know what?”

“I don’t know if I’m taking them.”

“You don’t know if you’re taking your SATs? Kaleigh, this is our last chance! College applications have to be in soon. You can’t go to college if you don’t take your SATs.”

Her books packed, Kaleigh worked the zipper of her backpack. The stupid thing stuck all the time.

Katy watched her. “You’re not really considering not going to college, are you? We finally all get permission to leave town for college and you don’t want to go? Are you out of your cotton-pickin’ ”—she glanced around the mostly empty shop to make sure she saw no humans—“bloodsucking mind? Me, I’m going. I’m going as far as I can get from here. Stanford’s at the top of my list.”

“Stanford isn’t on the list. We can only go to colleges approved by the General Council. It has to be a place where they think we’ll be safe, where there’s one of them close enough to get there if we get into trouble.”

Katy sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “Guess they better add Stanford to the list, because I just might get in. And if I do, I’m going, and those old farts on the Council aren’t going to stop me.”

“Weren’t you one of those old farts a couple of years ago before you were reborn?”

“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you, Kaleigh.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Why wouldn’t you go to college?” she asked, softening her tone.

“I have responsibilities here. The world’s changing. It’s getting harder and harder to keep our cover and the humans seem to be cranking out more psychos every year. It’s more dangerous when we’re spread thin, all over the world. I think my place is here.”

“Bullshit, Miss Wisewoman. If you’re going to help us keep our cover, you need to be a part of the world. You need to know what we’re facing.”

Kaleigh knew Katy made a good point; she just didn’t know if it was good enough. “Mom already paid, so I guess maybe I’ll go.”

“Great. Can you drive? We have to be at Cape Henlopen High School by seven forty-five.”

“You grounded again?” Kaleigh laughed, finishing her iced tea. “What’d you do now?”

“Total misunderstanding.” Katy got up, taking her backpack off.

“I can borrow Arlan’s truck. He and Fia went somewhere for the weekend.”

“Cool. See you in the morning.” She pulled a couple of wrinkled bills out of the pocket of her jeans and left them on the table. “My turn. You pay next time.”

Kaleigh took her time getting her stuff together. As she pulled her sweatshirt over her head, she watched the window across the street. She could still feel Liam’s presence. It was hard to miss. He wasn’t a weirdo like Katy said, but he was one of the darkest souls she knew. She respected him a great deal. She even liked him, but he scared her sometimes.

She didn’t believe the nonsense about him eating those guys in Paris. But she had questions. And sooner or later, whether either of them liked it or not, she was going to have to walk through the door of the antiques shop and he was going to have to start talking.

It was almost two in the morning when Liam’s cell phone rang, but he was still awake. Particularly vivid nightmares like the one the night before tended to cause insomnia in a man, or a beast.

Still, the phone startled him. He didn’t get a lot of calls. He wasn’t even sure where his phone was. He rarely answered it, to the frustration of both his fellow Kill Team members and his mother.

Who would call him at two in the morning while he was in the States?

He got out of bed and walked toward the sound. By the light of the moon coming in through the bare window, he saw a pair of jeans on the floor. The jeans were ringing.

He glanced at the lit screen on the phone. It didn’t identify the caller. He wasn’t generally a curious man; curiosity was dangerous, but he answered it anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Liam?” The voice was tiny and filled with emotion. It scratched the surface of his memory, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“This is Liam,” he said cautiously.

“Liam . . . it’s Mai. I . . . Remember me? I came into the shop today. I’m sorry to call you in the middle of the night.” She took a breath. She had the quiet calm in her voice of someone on the verge of losing it. “I didn’t know who to call. Your number, it was on my hand. I . . . just dialed it without thinking.”

He sat down, leaning against the wall; the floorboards were cool under his bare butt. “What’s the matter, Mai?” He was good in an emergency. The best.

“The . . . the police are on their way. My uncle Donato. My dad’s brother who’s been living with us. He’s dead. Murdered.”

Liam felt his jaw tighten, though the rest of his body remained relaxed. “Who killed him?”

“I . . . I don’t know. Oh, God, there’s so much blood. You wouldn’t think an old, skinny man like him would have this much blood.” She seemed to be talking more to herself than to him now. “Who would do such a thing? Kill a harmless old man?”

Liam thought he heard the sound of police sirens in the background.

“Liam?” she whispered. “I’m scared. There’s no one else I can call. Could . . . could you come?”

“Come?”

“Here. I . . . don’t know if I can do this alone. I don’t want to get my cousins involved. Oh, God,” she muttered. “The police are coming and they’re going to ask questions and . . .” She let the sentence trail off into silence.

Of course Liam couldn’t go to the human’s house in the middle of the night. He was sorry her uncle had been murdered, but that wasn’t his problem, was it? He was in enough trouble with the sept as it was; he couldn’t go running around in the middle of the night, running to the rescue of HFs. Not even pretty ones.

“They’re here,” she whispered. “Could you please come?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say no. Surely there was someone she could call: a friend, a relative. But he could tell from her tone of voice that when they met, she had felt the same inexplicable connection he had. Had this been their fate from the moment she walked into his shop?

He got her address.

Liam didn’t like cops, policia, jingcha, gingchaat. Which was okay, because they didn’t like him either. He arrived on his motorcycle, a 1936 BMW R5 he’d taken off the hands of a serial killer in Berlin not long after the war. No need to waste such a great bike on a dead man.

He parked a good way down the street and entered the property from the back. Dogs usually got chased away from crime scenes, but no one seemed to pay any attention to common housecats. No one noticed the tabby that walked past the six state and town police cruisers, the ambulance, and the fire truck. What the hell the fire truck was doing there, he didn’t know.

He smelled the blood before he walked through the open door of Mai’s shop. She was right. It was a lot of blood. It was arterial blood, thick and sweet. He had to take a deep breath to keep from getting lost in the scent of it.

Inside the cute little antiques s. . .