The Last True Vampire(2)

He swung his legs over the edge of the king-size bed and let his head hang between his shoulders. How many nights had it been since he’d fed? Twenty? Thirty? Too damned many at any rate. His body ached with hunger, his throat raw and his gut pulsing with a hollow yet acidic burn that damn near brought him to his knees. With effort, Michael reached for his cell on the bedside table. He scrolled through his contacts and hit “send.”

“What’s on tap for tonight?” a man answered on the other end.

“I’m going out. Bring the car.” Michael’s own voice was gravel spinning in a cement mixer, and speaking did little to soothe the fire in his throat.

“Ten minutes?”

Michael’s head spun. His thoughts clouded. If he didn’t feed soon, instinct would overtake him and he’d be unable to control his compulsion to feed. “Make it five.”

“Five minutes, then” came the reply before the call disconnected.

Arms braced at his sides, Michael pushed himself off the bed. He wobbled on his feet for a moment, light-headed. The collective hunger of an entire race exhausted his strength and he wondered, if he allowed them all to perish, would he too finally see his end? The slayers hadn’t managed to do the deed four centuries ago; surely he was doomed to the torture of this empty existence for all eternity.

A few stumbling steps took Michael to a control panel on the wall. He pushed a button and the blackout blinds retracted from the floor-to-ceiling windows, revealing the gray twilight that draped the sky as though with the haze of a mourning cloak. Michael gazed out at the gardens beyond his window, and the tension constricting his muscles eased by slow degrees. He didn’t miss the sun. The sun was hot, and bright, and punishing. He had no desire to feel the warmth of it on his skin or see the ocean in the daytime, bright and blue in its reflection, like the vampires did in the movies. Michael didn’t secretly yearn for a time when he would meet the accursed yellow orb in a glorious display of morning light. The thing he feared—truly resented—was that he had to shut himself up in a tomb to block out those deadly rays. Even in his spacious house, miles from the congestion of the city, he felt suffocated once the blinds went down. And he had that Sortiari bastard to thank for that.

True to his word, Alex pulled up to the front door just a few minutes later. The human was worth every cent of his considerable paycheck: prompt, discreet, and efficient. He never asked questions and he did whatever was required of him. And in a city where gossip paid very, very well, he was a valuable commodity indeed.

“Where to?” Alex asked as he opened the door of the sleek black town car.

A nice open field in Siberia might be nice. “Take me into the city. Club district.”

Alex inclined his head. “Anywhere in particular?”

Michael should have found a dhampir to supply a willing vein—that blood would surely sustain him longer—but he didn’t have the patience or energy to deal with his own kin. Keeping company with dhampirs would dredge up too many painful memories for him to stomach. “Wherever’s hot right now. I don’t care about the specifics.”#p#分页标题#e#

“Can do.” Alex closed the door and took the driver’s seat. “You do realize things won’t heat up at the clubs for a few hours yet. Tongues will wag whether you’re fashionably late or way too early.”

True, but at this point it hardly mattered. “Like you said, they’ll talk either way. Let’s just get this over with.”

“You’re the boss,” Alex replied as he put the car into gear and began the long trek down Mulholland toward the city.

Michael leaned his head back on the rest as he relaxed against the supple leather interior and closed his eyes. His control was slipping as the thirst mounted, his sanity on the precipice of collapse. The memories of the Ancient Ones assaulted his mind, remnants of lives extinguished by Sortiari slayers. Once he fed he’d be strong enough to keep the memories at bay, but right now his mind roared with myriad voices, thoughts, and events of lives in a time long since passed.

“Not much farther,” Alex remarked from the front of the car. “Just hang on.”

Awareness spiked for the briefest moment and a desperate snarl tore from Michael’s throat. The scent of the driver’s blood invaded his nostrils, tempting him beyond reason. His fangs slid down from his gums and it took every ounce of willpower in his control to keep from attacking the man speeding through the city in an effort to see him properly fed. Michael pierced his tongue with one sharp tip. It had been so long since he’d last fed, he didn’t even have a drop of blood in his own body left to spare. His heart was silent in his rib cage, his lungs still. Chest unmoving with breath. He had nothing with which to keep the frenzy in check.