Girls Who Bite Page 7

  “None of them are smiling,” Rica purred.

  Lisa cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Any connections between them?” she asked as she inventoried the victims. The two females were an unemployed woman in her twenties and a thirty-one-year-old army captain. A male college student and last night’s businessman were the most recent bodies.

  “Only one that I can see,” Rica said, her eyes not leaving Lisa’s face as she spoke. “They were all raised in a ghetto and fought against the Marginals in the War.”

  “Like me,” Lisa said, meeting Rica’s gaze steadily and hating the compassion she saw there. They were enemies, and she resented having to work so closely with a vampire.

  “Look, I know seeing these wounds must bring up difficult memories for you. The War separated a lot of families, but to have your own mother…”

  “Don’t,” Lisa said sharply, slamming her mug on the table. “You don’t know anything about my mother, so spare me your pity.”

  She went to the window and stared at the city with unseeing eyes, jumping when a cool hand brushed her shoulder. “Tell me how this happened,” Rica whispered in her ear, reaching around to brush the scars on Lisa’s throat.

  Lisa couldn’t help but lean back into Rica’s arms, feeling the vampire’s breasts press against her back. “Are you doing that vampire thing now?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Well, a little,” Rica admitted with a laugh that sent vibrations through Lisa’s body. “But only because I want to know, not because I want to eat you. Well, maybe a little…”

  “You’re dangerous,” Lisa said even as she arched into Rica’s embrace. The memory of her touch was still too fresh.

  “Yes, I am. But you’re safe with me, I promise.”

  “She saved my life,” Lisa said, lured by Rica’s soft voice, her scent that wrapped around Lisa as snugly as her arms. “My dad betrayed her, betrayed us. When the military came to get her, she pretended to attack me so they would believe I was forced to be with her. She clawed me, and they shot her.”

  Rica’s arms tightened. “Your file says she tried to kill you because you wanted to leave her.”

  “She gave her life for me, to give me a chance outside of the ghetto.”

  “So you wouldn’t have to live like I do,” Rica whispered. Lisa pulled out of her arms and stepped away.

  “So I could live like a citizen because I am one.”

  Lisa drove out of the city the following afternoon, glancing occasionally at the directions she had scribbled on a napkin during Chief Bannert’s call. She and Rica had spent a fruitless shift last night trying literally to sniff out the killer in a city teeming with Marginals. Their conversation seemed stilted after the intimacy of their talk in Lisa’s apartment, and Lisa had to admit she felt mostly relief when Bannert told her that they had a break in the case and the Dark Guard was no longer needed. She was on her way to meet him now, and she hoped they’d be finished in time for her to return to normal duty. The sooner she got back to her regular routine, the easier it would be to forget the feel of Rica’s arms around her.

  She pulled off the highway and almost missed her turn onto a dirt road. Her cell phone beeped as she bumped her way toward the farmhouse where Bannert and the detectives had found the Marginal responsible for the murders. She picked up the phone, wincing as her patrol car hit a deep rut.

  “Stecker here.”

  “Lisa?” Rica’s voice was distorted since cell coverage was unpredictable outside of the city limits. “I was just at your apartment. Where are you?”

  “Bannert called,” Lisa said loudly, hoping Rica could hear her over the static on the line. “They found the killer. The Guard should have been notified.”

  “…Not a Marginal…Where…?”

  Lisa sighed. She should have called Rica before she left, but she had expected to be back in the city long before their shift was due to start. She wondered why Rica had come over so early, and she cursed at herself for wishing she had been there to see her.

  “I’m a couple miles off Highway Sixty-Two,” she yelled into the phone, but the signal was gone. She tossed her cell on the seat and soon pulled up next to the old farmhouse. There was only one cruiser parked in the driveway and an uneasy feeling washed over her. Something in Rica’s voice, even through the poor connection, had sounded concerned. She saw Bannert waving to her from the porch and she pushed her doubts aside. She was being paranoid, only natural after seeing those crime scene photos and the wounds that matched her own scars.

  “Hey, Chief, where’s everyone at?” she called out as she got out of her car.

  “They’re around back,” he said, waving toward the wooded area behind the house. “Come on in and I’ll show you what we found.”

  Lisa took a step forward, but her instincts fought to override her movement. Too many things were wrong, from Rica’s worried voice to the lone patrol car to the lack of any Marginal scent in the fresh country air. She reached for her door handle when Bannert’s first shot rang out. The bullet shattered the front windshield and Lisa slid over broken glass as she dove into the car and grabbed the radio. She keyed the mike, shouting her location in the hope it would have enough signal to transmit, and started the ignition. Bannert’s second shot went through the grill and the engine went dead.

  “Come on, Stecker, I don’t want to shoot you,” the chief called to her, his voice getting closer as she slipped her own gun out of its holster. She took a deep breath and lifted her head up enough to see through the shattered window, raising her gun at the same time. She fired at Bannert and winged his shoulder, forcing him to take cover behind his own car.

  “What’s going on here, Chief?” she called, hoping to delay him long enough for backup to arrive. She edged over to the passenger side of the car and quietly opened the door. Maybe if she could make it to the woods she could outrun him.

  “You hate them too, Stecker,” Bannert said. “I’ve seen it in your eyes. I’m only trying to help the citizens by getting the Marginals back in the ghettos where they belong.”

  “So you killed those people? And you’re making it look like a Marginal out for revenge?”

  “I never meant to include you in this, Stecker, but when the Council sent that vampire bitch to work with you I knew I had to get you two off the case. I read your records and I know you have the affinity. You and the Guard would eventually have figured out it wasn’t a Marginal.”

  And Rica already had, Lisa realized. “It won’t help your plan if I’m found shot to death with one of your bullets, Chief. It’s over.”

  “I’ll just have to rip the bullets out with my claws,” Bannert said in a matter-of-fact tone that was at odds with his words.

  Lisa leaned out of the passenger-side door and watched Bannert’s feet as he changed positions. He seemed about to make a run for her, so Lisa crouched down, ready to move when he did. As soon as he started toward her she was out of the car, taking a shot at him before sprinting into the woods behind the house. She glanced back one time and saw Bannert following, his hand pressed to a stain of blood on his stomach.

  Bannert’s footsteps were sounding closer when Lisa tripped over an exposed root. She twisted as she fell, and was bringing her gun up for another shot when a flash of gold erupted from the trees to her right and slammed into Bannert. The bullet he fired at Lisa was deflected into a tree as he and Rica fell to the ground. She had him pinned before he had time to react.

  Lisa heard Rica’s snarl, and she realized that this was no call, no urge for a victim’s surrender. She jumped to her feet and grabbed the vampire’s shoulder.

  “Don’t, Rica. Don’t do it,” she begged, reaching around to grab Rica’s chin and force her to meet her eyes.

  “Get away, Lisa,” she growled.

  “Don’t kill him,” Lisa raised her voice in a commanding tone. “You know the rules for a Guard. If you kill a suspect, you’ll be tried for his crimes. Please.”

  The last word, delivered in a so
fter voice, made Rica turn to look at Lisa. “I can’t…the blood…I didn’t…”

  Lisa knelt next to her. “You didn’t feed today, did you? You came to see me instead?”

  “One of the Dark Guard found a dead were-lynx. She was killed a week ago, and her claws had been severed,” Rica said. She seemed to have trouble keeping her eyes from the stain spreading across Bannert’s midsection.

  “Let her do it, Stecker,” he wheezed. “She’ll pay for what I did and that makes it all worthwhile.”

  “No. No sacrifices,” Lisa said. She tugged Bannert’s wrist from Rica’s grasp, snapping her handcuff on it. She did the same with his other hand, pushing Rica back so she could make the chief sit up.

  “Wait here,” she ordered and Rica nodded reluctantly, her eyes following Bannert closely. Lisa pulled him out of the woods and shoved him in the back of her patrol car. A quick check of his wounds assured her that he would survive without immediate medical attention, so she left him hogtied in her backseat and jogged back to the woods.

  Rica was sitting where Lisa had left her, clasping her bent knees as if trying to stop herself from following Bannert’s blood trail. Lisa knelt by her again, gently reaching out to stroke her golden hair. Rica leaned into her hand, turning her lips to Lisa’s palm.

  “I can’t,” she said in a rasping voice. “I’m too hungry. It’s not safe.”

  Lisa bent over and captured Rica’s mouth with her own, biting Rica’s lower lip sharply when she fought against the kiss. A low growl sounded in Rica’s throat as she sucked Lisa’s tongue into her mouth. Lisa felt a brief moment of panic when she wondered if Rica might just bite her tongue off and drink from there, but after a few minutes she no longer cared how Rica fed, just that she did.

  Lisa tugged the Guard shirt over Rica’s head, leaning down to cover a taut nipple with her mouth. She held it firmly between her teeth, flicking it with her tongue, as Rica’s breathing grew more ragged and her hands tangled in Lisa’s hair. Lisa moved to the other breast, sucking it hard into her mouth.

  “Naked…please…I need you,” Rica gasped, her thirst overriding her ability to speak clearly. Lisa stood up and quickly stripped off her duty belt and uniform before kneeling again to peel Rica’s black pants off her. In a flash, Rica flipped her onto her back and recaptured her mouth. She shifted, trailing kisses over the long scars more tenderly than Lisa would have thought possible, and then moving hungrily to Lisa’s small breasts. She consumed them with her mouth, grazing an erect nipple with sharp teeth so she drew a little blood. She gently licked the red drops, the mix of pain and arousal making Lisa cry out and arch wildly underneath her.

  “Taste so good,” Rica whispered in her ear. “Baby, are you sure?”

  “Please,” Lisa begged, pulling Rica’s cool body hard against her overheated skin. “I need you. Want to taste you, too.”

  After one brief kiss on the lips, Rica moved away. The absence of her made Lisa moan in protest, but Rica quickly placed a knee on either side of Lisa’s head before lowering her own to nuzzle Lisa’s damp curls.

  Lisa spread her own thighs as she grabbed Rica’s hips and pulled her closer. She used her hands to open Rica’s lower lips, running her tongue through the wetness she found there. Lisa found the scent of Rica intoxicating, and the intensity of the vampire’s arousal made Lisa push her hips toward Rica’s mouth, silently pleading for more.

  Rica fought for control as Lisa drove her toward an inevitable climax. She turned her head to the side, silky curls damp under her cheek, and drew her tongue across the soft skin of Lisa’s groin. She felt Lisa cry out against her at the touch, and she quickly slipped her fingers into Lisa’s wetness. She entered her roughly at the same time as she punctured Lisa’s delicate skin with sharp teeth. She drank, feeling tears sting her eyes at the sweet taste of her lover.

  Lisa had never felt so completely filled, with Rica’s teeth embedded in her thigh, sucking on her in the same rhythm as those fingers stroking inside. She felt a desperate need to make Rica come, to have her climax while feeding on her. She closed her lips around Rica’s clit, feeling it stiffen in her mouth as she sucked hard, catching Rica’s rhythm as they fed together. They came together as well, their hips straining toward each other and stifling their loud cries.

  Rica withdrew her fangs, leaving small puncture wounds on Lisa’s groin. “Are you still alive?” she whispered, a hint of real fear in her voice.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Lisa answered weakly. Rica rose to her knees and turned around so she could lie in Lisa’s arms.

  “Thank you,” Rica said, her voice still quiet. “It’s never felt like that to feed.”

  “Mmm, I’m glad,” Lisa said as she ran her hands over Rica’s back. She sighed. “I suppose we should drive Bannert to the hospital now.”

  Rica grew still in her arms. “And then?”

  “Then we’ll need to give statements, file evidence and send someone out to get my car. And then,” Lisa paused, cupping Rica’s chin and meeting her mouth in a lingering kiss. “Back home for a midnight snack.”

  LA CAÍDA

  Anna Meadows

  When I was seven years old, I caught a monarch butterfly off the fruit trees in my grandmother’s backyard. It had perched on a pear blossom, its wire tongue probing the center for nectar, and I trapped it in one of the blue mason jars Abuelita had once used to can cactus-flower jam. I watched it flutter against the aqua glass, its wings a flash of marigolds and obsidian.

  “Let it go, m’ija,” my grandmother said, pausing from her work in the herb patch.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “It’s hungry.”

  “But so am I.”

  Worry crossed her face. Even after years of watching her granddaughters turn eighteen, when a hunger for salt and iron filled their mouths, she didn’t know why I would want to eat the winged creature. My older sisters and cousins craved blood, only blood. Naguales never wanted anything else.

  “Let it go, m’ija,” she said again.

  “Why?”

  “He could be a warrior,” she said, reminding me of the legend that said fallen Aztec soldiers were reborn as monarchs. “He could be your ancestor.” She picked a handful of marjoram leaves. “And even if he’s not, he could be un ángel caído.”

  “A what?” I asked. I knew as little Spanish as my mother; she’d forgotten all but the Lord’s Prayer since her family moved to Luna Anaranjada when she was five.

  “A fallen one,” my grandmother said. “Sometimes God takes pity on them, depending on what they’ve done. An angel who rebels against Him will see no mercy. He’ll be thrown to the Earth and vanish before he hits the ground.” She pointed up toward the Milky Way, coming into focus and banding the sky as it darkened. “Como un meteoro.” She took the jar in her hands. “But for the lesser sins, he might turn the angel into a monarch on its way down, so it can float to Earth. Its wings turn to limbs only when they touch the ground.” She eased the jar back between my palms. “Do you see, m’ija?”

  I nodded, my eyes down, and unscrewed the lid. The monarch hesitated, crawling along the inside lip, but I shook the jar and it fluttered out.

  I didn’t hunger for another butterfly until after my eighteenth birthday, when I wanted blood so badly I was ready to bite into my own arm. My sisters waited out their cravings like my family had for generations, eating raw, bloody meat from a cousin’s shop, and biding their time until they heard about a man who raped a woman or beat his wife. They would surround him in one of the fallow wheat fields outside town and share the meal like guests at a wedding feast. When a village was rid of such men, we moved on.

  They always invited me. I rarely came. The man’s screams and the sound of my sisters’ teeth tearing into his muscle turned my stomach.

  Carmen made fun of me. “Little sister is hungry, but can’t eat. She doesn’t want to work for it. She wants to buy it in cartons at the store like orange juice.”

  I didn’t hold it against her. She of
ten led my sisters to their next meal, and because of our family, the talk about our kind, los naguales, was changing. Villages used to fear naguales. They called us witches, and whispered that at night we turned to cats and wild dogs to commit our crimes. They said we were why children became sick and crops withered. They blamed murders and missing livestock on our taste for blood.

  Thanks to my family’s penchant for the blood of men so evil no one missed them, wives and mothers now spoke of us as guardians. Good men used us as warnings to their sons and brothers. If they guessed who we were, they did not tell, fearing we would flee before we had rid their village of the kind of men we fed on. If one of those men found us out, he never lived to expose us.

  No one ever found the bodies. My mother and Carmen never told me how they managed that. Once I asked them if it was the graveyards; two of my uncles ran a funeral home the next county over, and a few of my cousins worked as undertakers. But my mother only looked horrified and told me they’d never defile good men’s tombs with the bodies of the depraved.

  Depraved or not, I couldn’t feed on them. My sisters had grown tall and lean on their diet. I’d gained ten pounds trying to fill the gnawing in my stomach with the olive oil cookies and chiles en nogada that were once my favorites. My breasts had bloomed a full cup size. My thighs had softened and widened, and I carried a little pouch of extra fat below my belly button that strangers mistook for baby fat, thinking I was still thirteen. I ate and ate because I couldn’t stomach what I needed. It wasn’t that I objected to what my sisters were doing, to what my family had done for a hundred years. But my body rebelled against the nourishment. Carmen, for all her mocking, had brought me a glass of it once. But I heard the cries of the guilty man and their teeth puncturing his ligaments as surely as if I’d been in that fallow field, and I couldn’t keep it down. I was eating myself into the next dress size, and I was still starving.