The thing was, she'd had good chemistry with Jeff, too. Maybe not as wild as her attraction for Alex, but then again, Jeff didn't have vampire mojo backing him. But from the moment she and Jeff had met during a ski weekend in Telluride they'd been glued to one another. He was gorgeous, successful, and a five-time Ironman champion. She thought she'd finally found Mr. Perfect. They moved in together after three months. Problem was she was never perfect enough for him.
In short, Jeff was controlling and manipulative. And she'd never be involved with another man like that again, even if she had to be celibate the rest of her life.
She unwrapped a frozen pizza, wondering what Alex would be eating that night. He'd said he wouldn't kill the neighbors. How reassuring. She didn't know her neighbors real well, and honestly didn't like a couple of them, but she didn't think they deserved to be sucked on. At the same time, he had to eat.
He's a giant parasite. She'd not defined it so clearly yet, but that was exactly what he was. How could he live with himself, stealing from other people every day just to live?
He couldn't go back to New York fast enough.
On his second night alone, Alex woke up with rat hair between his teeth, hating Mikhail. His phone held concerned messages from his mother and Gregor, but no one was petitioning for his return. His father could override Mikhail's decision, but had not. As usual, the Faustins held strong—even against one of their own.
Alex braced himself for another farcical, humiliating outing. The night before he couldn't find any dogs or cats outside. It was too cold. He'd peeked through windows at people watching TV and considered creeping up on them while they slept. But if they woke up, if they pulled a gun, if they hit him… The thought of being struck made him hunch over. He was nothing but raw flesh and exposed nerve.
Children were tempting, but if they saw him, they'd be scarred for life. He just couldn't do it.
That left vermin as the only menu option.
Suffice it to say he'd found enough to fill his belly, and that was what mattered. The details of that night couldn't be forgotten too soon. But on the way home, he'd sniffed out a squirrel nest that he could start with that evening.
Squirrel. Mmm.
Around ten, when he could count on most people being settled in for the evening, he crept from the house. Helena was out somewhere. The blood bonding, incomplete as it was, amazed him. Helena traced through his mind like a blip on his radar. At any given moment he could pinpoint her location and her mood—which was always somewhere on the spectrum from nervous to frightened. The further away she was, the less he knew. At that moment all he knew was that she was somewhere north of him, and if he had to find her, he could.
It still hurt too much to dress. Or to wear shoes. He stepped naked onto the ice-slick pavement outside the back door. The next step took him shin deep into sharp, granular snow. The wind bit into his skin. The only way to warm himself was to move and eat and keep eating until dawn.
Though people were scarce, he kept to the shadows, walking off road among the trees, ducking behind them when he spotted headlights. Though he did his best to walk carefully, tree branches scored his arms and poked at his eyes. He flared his nostrils. Where was that damned squirrel nest?
His mind drifted to better times. His loft. The big windows sparkling with city lights. His sofa, the black leather buttery under his fingers. Candlelight. A slow groove on the stereo. A happy woman sprawled under him, tiny bite wounds marking her pulse points. That was how a vamp ate. Not this bullshit.
Thing was the woman in his daydream didn't have a face. No matter how he tried, he couldn't call up the faces of his former lovers. He could only see Helena. He almost groaned remembering how her skin yielded, resisted, then broke under his teeth. The sweet wash of her blood over his tongue.
Dazed with memories, Alex stepped out of the trees and onto an embankment where the snow was thin. Three deer—no, they weren't deer. Too big. Moose? No, not that ugly. What the hell were they?
Whatever they were, they were huge—fucking huge—and they were right in front of him, nibbling on dry grass. One had horns that must have been six feet across. In unison they lifted their heads and stared at him with wide, startled eyes. Alex froze too, listening to the wet, sweet rhythm of their hearts, the swish of blood in their veins. As one, they turned tail and ran, and without thinking he took off after them.
What are you doing, Alex? The reasonable part of him, the New Yorker, knew he couldn't bring down a…whatever. Caribou? Even if he were well, he couldn't do it alone. But another part of him, the hungry, burnt part, didn't give a fuck. It wanted beast blood, and a lot of it. And that part of him seemed to have the steering wheel. So, feeling foolish and more than a little out of control, Alex began to stalk the whatevers. Reindeer?
They were harder marks than people, that was for sure. One snapped twig could send them bolting for a half mile, and it took him forever to catch up with them. He tracked them by nose and eventually found them in someone's backyard—if an acre of unfenced land could be considered a backyard.
The deer things looked surreal—and larger than ever—as they nibbled their way around a big jungle gym with three frozen swings and a slide piled with snow. He circled around the yard to get upwind of them. All the lights in the house were off.
Okay, what now, nature boy?
He really didn't know, or maybe he just didn't want to think about it, but he found himself selecting a strong, smooth log from the woodpile at the side of the house. One that felt right in his hands. Nervous, and beginning to salivate, he swallowed hard. The arousal lengthened his incisors, forcing him to pull back his lips and open his mouth slightly so he wouldn't cut himself.
In the same way that smiling can make you feel better despite yourself, the adoption of that particular, snarling expression focused Alex like nothing else. It reminded him that he was vampyr, and not just vampyr, but a Faustin.
He guessed he had enough strength for one sprint and one blow. After that, all bets were off. But he'd be damned if he'd spend another night creeping after vermin. He wanted what was in front of him and he wanted it with every fiber in his body.
Peeking around the corner of the house, he saw the one with the horns was closest to him. It was as big as a horse and looked like it had two coat trees growing out of the sides of its skull. That one he'd rather avoid. He waited for one of the smaller ones to circle around.
But while he watched, the…wildebeest?…raised its massive head and sniffed the air. Alex knew it was going to bolt, and so would the rest of them, and he might not catch them again before dawn.
Alex rushed forward, moving so fast that he'd be a blur to the human eye. It confused the deer thing too, because it didn't take alarm until he was right next to it. It saw him then, but by that time it was too late. He was already swinging the log like a baseball bat. It cracked against the buck's skull, loud and hollow sounding. The blow jarred his arms to the sockets.
Alex could see the rattled confusion in the deer thing's eyes. It hurt, but it didn't fall. Instead, it charged.
Alex scrambled backward, keeping one bare step ahead of the coat hooks of death.
Alex didn't experience any moments of spiritual clarity during this brush with mortality. It sucked. It sucked profoundly as he scampered for his life. He wanted to live. But he also knew it was funny. Fucking hysterical that he should die naked out here in the sticks, skewered by a really pissed deer-like thing.