Voltana & the Rogue Vamps (The Voltana Adventures Book 1) Read online

  As she said this, her eyes roved up and down over Blake’s strange attire, involuntarily taking in her every surface and curve. And – her ridiculous heart skipped another beat.

  Blake squeezed a dollop of the antibiotic ointment out of the bottle, onto her second and third fingers. She slathered it gently over Andi’s skin, working it into the cuts with a diligent expression.

  Andi went stiff at her touch, bracing her arms in front of her. She used Blake’s distraction with the ointment as an opportunity to look down into her face. She saw now how truly beautiful she was, even with what looked like no makeup on. Her golden hair caught the gleam of the overhead lights, shining like some ancient Aztec artifact, priceless but impossible to touch.

  Blake didn’t seem to notice Andi’s gaze; or, if she did, she made no remark. When she’d finished with the ointment, she laid it on the edge of the sink and picked up the gauze, rolling it out and winding it around Andi’s left forearm. Every time her fingertips brushed Andi’s skin, Andi shuddered.

  When the gauze was wrapped well around, Blake cut it with a pair of tiny scissors and then secured it with medical tape. After that, she went to work on the right arm, subjecting Andi to another torturous round of waiting on pins and needles for the intermittent touch of her soft fingers.

  “All done,” she said finally. Andi exhaled in relief, crossing her arms in front of her as if she were trying to form some kind of defensive barrier.

  “You didn’t finish your dinner earlier,” Blake remarked, watching Andi with an inscrutable expression. “Would you like to go and get something to eat?”

  “With – with you?” Andi asked, tightening the fold of her arms across her breasts.

  Blake smiled almost imperceptibly. “Yeah,” she said. “With me. I just have to go and get changed. Meet me downstairs in a few minutes?”

  “Sure,” Andi replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but not really sure if she succeeded. “I should change, too.”

  “You’ve got a little blood on your face,” Blake said, reaching out with a steady hand to wipe at a thin line of dried fluid on Andi’s cheek. “You might want to wash up.”

  Andi cursed herself when she shivered at the other woman’s touch. This was getting just plain nonsensical. Andi did not act like this.

  Instead of replying, though, she just nodded and fled from the room. She needed a few minutes to collect herself – and hopefully, to find a way to stop behaving as if she had some stupid middle school crush.

  ***

  Blake watched Andrea go, then went out into her bedroom to change. She stripped off her black Voltana suit and tossed it onto the bed, then went to the closet to select an outfit. She had a strange desire to take Andrea to one of the posh restaurants she sometimes visited with her colleagues and clients, to treat her to a special evening, but she had a sneaking suspicion that the young woman would feel uncomfortable in that kind of setting. She felt that something much simpler was in order.

  Thinking in this vein, she put on a pair of blue jeans and a pink button-down. The material of the shirt was thin and cool, perfect for this humid evening. For her feet she chose a pair of white tennis shoes. Perfect in case any physical activity was required. Andrea gave her the impression that she was someone you might have to go chasing after at any moment, if tonight was any indication.

  She pinned her hair back in front of the bathroom mirror, checked her reflection carefully, almost self-consciously. It surprised her a little, considering the fact that she was usually extremely confident. But something about holding Andrea De Luca close to her as she raced with her through the city, then standing so near to her while she dressed her wounds – well, it had put her off her game.

  She was nervous. Something about the young woman made her anxious, somehow, and there didn’t seem to be anything she could do to change that.

  Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she started downstairs to meet Andrea, but the other woman hadn’t made her appearance yet. Blake remembered that she’d had to wash up, too, so it made sense that she’d take a little longer. She normally didn’t have a great deal of patience when it came to waiting, but for some reason, the prospect of waiting for Andrea didn’t bother her. She almost liked the idea.

  She didn’t have to wait long, though. Three or four minutes after she arrived in the front entryway, she heard the clacking of the other woman’s boot heels on the marble floor of the upper landing. She was wearing an outfit similar to the one she’d had on before, this time with a black Batman T-shirt. It was obvious she’d showered and styled her hair, and even put on a bit of makeup. Not too much makeup, though. Just enough to accentuate her eyes and cheekbones.

  She looked like a punk rock masterpiece. Blake felt her mouth watering, and she swallowed thickly, gazing at the other woman with rapt attention. She suddenly realized that it had been a very long time since she’d been interested in anyone. Her work always took precedence, and especially since the advent of Voltana, she had no free time to speak of. And, even if she’d had any, no woman had moved her in ages – either figuratively or literally.

  Andrea stepped down into the entryway, looking unsure. “My credit cards are in my apartment,” she said quietly, twiddling her fingers by her sides. “You were already kind enough to buy me new clothes, and I don’t want to accept any more gifts. Can we at least swing by my place so I can grab some cash? I’d really like to take you out to dinner.”

  Blake was surprised. She had to admit, there weren’t that many people lining up to buy things for her. Everyone knew she was almost disgustingly rich, and they didn’t see the sense in it. What can you buy for the woman who already has everything?

  But here was Andrea De Luca, standing right in front of her, looking ill at ease because she felt like she wasn’t pulling her own weight. She wanted to take Blake to dinner, despite the fact that Blake had more than enough money to buy a hundred restaurants of her own.

  Blake suddenly felt guilty for her initial fear that this woman would try to steal from her. She almost wanted to apologize for it out loud, but of course that would mean admitting that she’d thought it in the first place.

  “Well, sure,” Blake said slowly. “I just didn’t want you to go there alone. I don’t see anything wrong with stopping by to pick up a few things.”

  “Awesome,” Andrea said with a faint smile. “I appreciate it.”

  They both turned towards the front door at the same time, inadvertently brushing closely against one another. Blake felt herself break out in gooseflesh. Summer night, her ass. Andrea De Luca had just made her feel like she was trapped out in the open air at three A.M. in late January.

  “Sorry,” Andrea murmured, her face tilting ever so slightly towards Blake. “I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

  “It’s okay,” Blake replied, trying to keep her voice from quaking. Not that she could really understand, even one little bit, exactly what was going on. No one made her quake. No one made her shiver. No one made her shake.

  But this woman had just . . .

  She felt an additional, if familiar, presence over her shoulder, and she looked back to see Albert standing at the top of the staircase. He was practically grinning, which was rather unlike him. Albert was much more accustomed to calm, demure expressions of the face.

  But he saw Blake standing next to Andrea, basically tripping over herself in confusion – and he grinned. Blake shook her head and smiled softly back at him. She was glad Andrea hadn’t taken note of his presence.

  Chapter 6

  They drove to Andrea’s tenement downtown in Blake’s Audi. Blake couldn’t keep herself from glancing repeatedly at the side of Andrea’s face, which was lit up softly in the glow of the surrounding streetlights.

  But Andrea looked tense, and Blake couldn’t help noticing. She was chewing the skin inside her mouth, then biting her fingernails. Not that she had much in the way of fingernails. Nail-chewing must have been a frequent habit.

  “Are you okay?”
Blake asked, trying not to make her tone too pointed or invasive. Which was kind of hard for her, because her tone was almost always pointed and invasive. She wasn’t all that proud of it; it was just part of being a businesswoman.

  “Yeah,” Andrea said quickly, though she sounded distracted. “Coming back this way is just dredging up some stuff from last night. No big deal.”

  “I see,” Blake replied sympathetically. “I really can’t even imagine.”

  “It’s cool,” Andrea said. It was obvious she was trying to sound nonchalant, but her voice just came out stiff and pained.

  Her friends must have been very close to her, Blake thought, frowning as she wondered what she could do to cheer the other woman up, though she figured that was probably a pretty silly thing to even be thinking about. How could you make someone feel better when three people had just been violently murdered right in front of her?

  “I am truly sorry, Andrea,” she said simply.

  A faint smile touched the corners of the other woman’s lips. “Thank you,” she replied. “And you can call me Andi.”

  Andrea had given Blake the tenement’s address when they got in the car, and Blake’s GPS system informed her now that they’d arrived at their destination. She turned right into the small rutted parking lot, sliding into an empty spot near the entrance.

  Andrea got out of the car, and Blake followed her. Andrea looked back with a barely contained sigh of annoyance. “You don’t have to come up,” she said. “I’ve already imposed on you enough.”

  “It’s not an imposition,” Blake returned with a genuine smile of amusement. “I told you I didn’t want you coming here alone, and I meant it. I’ll help you get your things.”

  Andrea smiled back reluctantly. “All right,” she said. “But I’m warning you now – somebody might jack your car while we’re upstairs.”

  “It has a tracker,” Blake replied. “I’ll just find whoever stole it and politely ask for it back.”

  It seemed that Andrea couldn’t help laughing. “Right,” she said. “As in, you’ll put on your black suit and go whoop their ass?”

  “I wouldn’t have put it quite like that – but yes, in a nutshell.”

  “Fine then, Lightning Girl,” Andrea said with another chuckle. “Follow me.”

  Blake smiled when Andrea called her “Lightning Girl.” The woman just said whatever was on her mind, and Blake really liked that about her. Most of the time, people were too afraid of Blake’s money and influence to give her their real opinions. It was quite a refreshing experience.

  The entrance to the tenement wasn’t locked, and Andrea walked right in, holding the door for Blake. They entered a small, dirty-looking lobby that smelled like cabbage and mildew, and Blake followed Andrea up the rickety wooden staircase. She tried to control herself, but she found that she couldn’t help gazing at Andrea’s perfectly-shaped rear end as she climbed the steps.

  And then an unexpected, not entirely welcome thought drifted across the foreground of her brain.

  I wonder what it would taste like to sink my teeth into that ass.

  She shook herself involuntarily, shocked that she was even entertaining such a notion. More often than not, it seemed that she and Andrea didn’t get along very well, and that could hardly bode well for a romantic relationship.

  Romantic relationship? Jesus Christ, what the fuck was she thinking? She didn’t even know anything about this person. She didn’t even know if she liked women.

  Andrea’s voice startled her so badly, she nearly tipped backwards and fell down the stairs.

  “Not the fanciest digs, I know,” Andrea said, her tone simultaneously defensive and self-conscious. “I was making a little money with Rocko before he died, and I thought about moving uptown – but people always look at me funny around there. Like I don’t belong.”

  They arrived on the landing, and Blake smiled thinly, trying to dispel the lustful thoughts that were still vying for her attention. It took every ounce of her self-control not to let her eyes wander down Andrea’s compact frame, taking in her every curve and swell. It was all just . . . so inviting.

  “I’d try to counteract that with something positive,” she said, “but the simple truth is that people can be real assholes.”

  Andrea stared at her for a moment, gazing directly into her eyes. It was impossible to decipher what she was thinking.

  But then she just snickered, turning away to continue down the dim, narrow corridor, which was illuminated by just a single bare lightbulb on the ceiling over the landing. “True dat,” she said. “Assholes and bitches, for real.”

  She stopped in front of the door to apartment number nine, then fished her cell phone out of her boot and removed a key from a little pocket on the back of the case. She unlocked the door, pushing it back slowly on squeaky hinges, and then walked into the apartment. Blake followed at a respectful distance while Andrea flipped a switch inside the door, causing grainy yellow light to flood the scene.

  The place was a serious mess. It seemed that the living room doubled as a bedroom, and the futon was pulled out into the sleeping position, the wrinkled sheets hanging halfway off the thin mattress, one of the pillows lying on the floor. There were clothes, varying in levels of scantiness, strewn everywhere, and there were empty liquor bottles on almost every available flat surface. There was also a significant amount of cocaine residue on the low coffee table next to the futon.

  “Not very impressive, I know,” Andrea said. She no longer sounded self-conscious, though. Rather, she simply seemed regretful. Of what exactly, Blake couldn’t have said.

  “It’s very – cozy,” Blake replied, though the compliment didn’t come across as all that sincere, and Andrea was perfectly aware of it. Her face betrayed no sign of bitterness, though. She just looked a little sad.

  “It would take me forever to find all my clothes,” she said, her voice growing brusque and clipped. “I just want to get out of here, anyway. I’ll grab my money and my credit cards, and we can go.”

  “All right,” Blake said agreeably. If there was one thing she had learned about Andrea De Luca, it was that you probably shouldn’t argue with her when she was in a bad mood.

  Andrea walked across the room, stopping in front of a large reproduction of The Raft of the Medusa by Théodore Géricault. Not one of Blake’s favorite paintings, to be sure. The dead bodies intertwined with live ones across the wooden raft was a macabre image, one not recommended to be viewed before either a meal or bedtime.

  Andrea must have noticed Blake’s expression, because she smiled wryly over her shoulder. “Not a fan of Géricault?” she inquired.

  “Not of that particular painting, no,” Blake replied.

  “I’ve always liked it,” Andrea said matter-of-factly. “The realism comforts me.”

  Blake had absolutely no idea what to say to that, so she said nothing at all. She just watched as Andrea took the painting off the wall, revealing a big, messy-looking hole in the plaster. It appeared as if it had been made with a few swings of a sledgehammer.

  Inside the hole, on a rude shelf made of thick plywood, was a steel safe. Andrea dialed in the combination and popped it open. All it contained was a simple black duffel bag.

  Andrea took the bag out of the safe and dropped it to the floor for a moment, unzipping a side pocket and pulling out a switchblade, which she promptly stowed away in her boot. Then she swung the bag over her shoulder, grunting with what must have been a considerable weight. Not such a simple bag, then. Blake took a moment to wonder exactly what – or rather, how much – was inside it, but of course she knew that it was none of her business.

  Andrea closed the safe and replaced the painting on the wall. “I’ll probably never be coming back here,” she said, “not after what happened to Rock and the others. But I’d still prefer it if people didn’t know where I’d been keeping my money.”

  Blake nodded, but was silent. Something told her that Andrea would prefer that too, for now at leas
t.

  Andrea didn’t even look around the apartment again. She just secured the bag on her shoulder and walked briskly across the room, out the door and into the semi-dark corridor. There were inky pools of shadow all around the doorway – so it was as if the man suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

  Now, Blake’s reaction time was usually pretty good – come on, she was a frigging superhero, for crying out loud – but before she could so much as lift a finger, Andrea had reached into her boot for her switchblade and was holding it against the new arrival’s throat, pinning him to the wall.

  “Jesus Christ, Andi!” the man squealed in terror.

  Andrea sighed, not in relief, but in pure annoyance. “For fuck’s sake,” she growled. “What are you doing here, Aaron?”

  She closed her blade and shoved it back in her boot, looking angrily at the young man. He couldn’t have been much more than in his early twenties. He was very pale, and very thin, his milk-white skin stretched over his bones like Saran wrap. His head was shaved, his clothes were baggy and filthy, and he wasn’t the most pleasant-smelling individual Blake had ever happened upon.

  “I’m your brother,” the young man said with an uncertain smile. “Shouldn’t you be happy to see me?”

  “Half-brother,” Andrea snapped, tightening her hold on the duffel bag. It was clear that she didn’t trust the guy.

  “I hate it when you say that,” he mumbled, peeling himself away from the wall and rolling his thin shoulders.

  “I wouldn’t have any reason to say it if you’d just stop coming around,” Andrea persisted crossly.

  “What happened to you?” the boy asked, gesturing to the wounds at Andi’s neck and the bandages on her arms.

  “It’s none of your business,” Andi replied.

  The young man glanced back at Blake, obviously uncomfortable about having her listen in on the conversation. But Blake still wasn’t willing to leave Andrea alone at an unsecure location, so she didn’t plan on excusing herself.