Sunglasses at Night (Claws Clause Book 3) Page 6

  Three quick exchanges and a little nookie and Tabby could be a vampire’s bride.

  Yeah, right. No fucking way.

  Adam was addicted after one taste.

  And he was fucking miserable because of it.

  Holy hell, she was a slayer.

  Was he insane? While slayers were supposed to be the bogeymen of the paranormal world, he’d heard enough horror stories about the secret society of Para hunters to know that they were real—and, to a Nightwalker like him, really dangerous.

  Of course, it was just like him to not only stumble upon one—twice—but to also be so attracted to her that the thought of her attempting to lop off his head only made the one below his belt twitch and start to harden all over gain.

  It didn’t get any better after he finally escaped from her apartment.

  For the next few nights after that, Adam woke up every dusk, his cock aching and his fangs throbbing. The thirst was the worst. Before Tabitha, he relished the taste of blood fresh from the bag, only relying on the synthetic blood crap from Bloodbucks when he had no choice.

  Now?

  Even Hudson’s supply tasted like shit.

  He thought about asking a donor to share their vein. Now that he fed from someone like the parasite that he was, he figured, what the hell? Might as well go full vamp… only he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  It didn’t take long for him to realize that it wasn’t about taking the blood from the source.

  It was taking it from Tabitha.

  And that scared the ever-loving hell out of him.

  Something was wrong—really wrong—and he didn’t have half a clue what it was. He just knew that he’d do whatever he could for another taste of her blood. And, since that was absolutely impossible, he had to figure out what to do next, instead.

  It was another reason why he hated being a turned human. Apart from the Dayborn nurse who tried to explain to him what his new life—well, death—would be like when he was still in Grayson General, there were only a few people he could ask when something weird was going on.

  After a week, he couldn’t stand it any longer.

  He went to see Deb.

  Deborah St. Claire was a Dayborn vamp, the first one to move to the settlement that became the Bumptown where Colton Wolfe lived with his witch mate and his ghostly pal, Dodge McCoy.

  He’d met her for the first time late last year, when Colt was still being a jackass. He wanted to prove that the human Adam couldn’t spot a vamp out of a crowd so he brought him down to meet Debbie.

  Dayborns had a born talent that Nightwalkers didn’t. With one look in their eyes, they could compel you to do anything. Before Colt called her off, Adam was halfway to offering his throat to the female, snared by her magic.

  Surprisingly, since then they’d actually become friends. Mainly because Deb was friendly with everyone, and Adam needed someone who knew what it was like to be a vampire, even if she wasn’t a Nightwalker.

  As he jogged toward her house—the one with the black roses out front and the Lair, Sweet, Lair banner hanging over the garden—he thought he caught a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of his eye. He froze, hunching, ready to reach for the dagger at his ankle.

  Eyes searched the darkness.

  He was in Sunset Boulevard, the Dayborn part of the Bumptown. Since the born vampires were capable of facing the sun, they kept a diurnal schedule. This late, no one else was around but Adam and, after a few tense moments when he relied on his senses, he rose back to his full height again before leaping onto Debbie’s porch.

  He knocked, hoping that he got to her before she turned in for the night. After a few minutes, the light in the front room flickered on. The door swung open.

  “My, my, my… What a nice surprise to find you lurking on my doorstep.”

  “Good to see you, too, Deb.”

  Debbie was a buxom blonde, with big hair, big hips, and a big personality. She often smiled, never hiding her fangs, and she ushered him in with a boisterous, “Come on in, hun, I was just pouring myself some blood wine. I’ll get you a goblet.”

  Unlike Nightwalkers, who needed the stuff to survive, Dayborns were more elegant in their blood consumption. No blood bags for Deb. She sipped on blood wine, and would never be caught dead at a Bloodbucks.

  He knew better than to refuse. He accepted the fancy glass with the wide-mouthed cup, setting it in front of him as he joined Debbie at the ornate table she kept just for guests in her parlor.

  “So, Adam, honey. What do I owe to the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”

  They’d had enough of these chats over the last few months that, while Deb loved to play the hostess, she knew that he was the kind of guy who didn’t beat around the bush.

  “What do you know about slayers?”

  The words just slipped out. Definitely not what he meant to say. His main concern had everything to do with the way his Nightwalker body had turned on him ever since meeting Tabitha.

  Then again…

  Deb lifted her goblet, waiting until Adam picked his up and clinked it against hers. Cheers. After taking a dainty sip, she told him, “They’ll kill you so much as look at you if you’re not human. Why do you ask?”

  Because he bit a slayer and lived to see another sunset, that’s why.

  He shook his head. “No reason. I just heard a rumor they’re in my city. Thought I’d get your opinion on them.”

  “Oh, they’re always sneaking around. They’re worse than Ants, let me tell you.”

  Ants. The way Paras referred to humans.

  Adam forced his lips to curve into a smile of agreement, even if he hated the dismissive name. Not long ago, Deb would’ve been referring to him like that.

  “Right. Anyway, I’ve got something else to ask you.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  It was embarrassing as hell, but if he wanted answers to his problem, he had to get over it.

  “You know how Nightwalkers are supposed to have a betrothed? Is that like a fated mate?”

  That was his biggest concern. It didn’t make sense to him, even if his body kept insisting that Tabitha should be his. He only had one example to go on, and it made him think that it wasn’t like that for his kind of Para. When Julian Koenig tried to make Shea his, she was already bonding to Colt. He was her mate, not Julian, yet he was able to start the blood exchanges with her anyway.

  And Adam had already taken some of the slayer’s blood.

  So what did that mean for him?

  He had no fucking clue, and he only hoped that Deb did.

  Interest lit up her bright blue eyes. “Did you meet someone?”

  “I might’ve,” he hedged, careful to stare at the bridge of her nose instead of the power in her gaze. If he wasn’t careful, she’d have him spilling his guts in no time. “How do I know if she’s my betrothed?”

  “Well, that’s a loaded question, isn’t it? Turned vamps like you are a little bit different, sweetie. Even though you’re firmly Para now, there’s still that stubborn part of you that clings to humanity. Not just you, either. All Nightwalkers. It’s why I enjoy some blood wine, but I won’t go nutsy without it. The thirst doesn’t bother me. I don’t need it to survive. You do, since you’re technically dead and all.”

  “Thanks, Deb,” he said flatly, watching her take another sip from her goblet. “Just in case I forgot, kudos on the reminder.”

  “Don’t be an ass,” she shot back, a throaty laugh blunting the harsh—well, harsh for Deb—language. “You came to me with a question. Let me answer it.”

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s better. You wanted to know if there’s a fated bond between a Nightwalker and a betrothed. It’s not so simple as that. Take the shifters. Poor beasts can’t even get it up until they meet their mate. Then they have to fumble around like virgins since they have no clue what they’re really doing. At least you had a full life before you were turned, you delicious little snack, you.”

 
; Another sip, and if this had been the first time he went to Deb for answers, he would’ve thought she was tipsy from her blood wine. Nope. That was just Deb.

  “With vamps, it’s different, like I said. When your little pecker starts a-peeping, it doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s your betrothed. Then again, it might. You can’t begin to bond to your betrothed unless there’s some kind of attraction… but you won’t know until the first blood exchange whether she could be the one.”

  Adam went still. “What… what do you mean by that?”

  She shrugged, her ample chest moving like a wave with the over-the-top motion. “You might want to fuck her, yes? And you might feel the thirst. But when both of those senses overcome you… she won’t just be a flash in the pan. The blood tells. When you taste someone special and want that taste again and again, it could be a good donor for you… or it could be your betrothed.”

  Deb was a Dayborn. She couldn’t lie.

  Shit.

  “And that’s it?”

  “Heavens no! It takes three blood exchanges. Vamp to partner has to be one, then partner to vamp. Third one is anything goes, so long as there’s a little action involved.” Debbie waggled her eyebrows. Adam nearly dropped his head in his hands. “That’s the important part,” she added. “The final exchange only counts if there’s blood and seed being exchanged. So if you can’t control your fangs, wrap it up, sweetie. Okay? Then you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

  That was easy for Deb to say. She was a born vampire with more than two hundred years under her belt. And, somehow, in all that time, she’d avoided finding her betrothed.

  After the way he lost control around the pretty, little slayer, Adam wasn’t sure if he had.

  Shoving his untouched goblet away from him, he frowned. “You know, this would be so much easier if I was still a human.”

  Back when he was still human, if he was attracted to a woman, he could make a move, see if she wanted to get to know him better. No ever-lasting bonds involved. No fate. No blood. Just attraction and some pleasure.

  And then Rafe ripped out his throat, turned him into this monster, and he was having fucking tea-time with a Dayborn who was almost seven times his age while getting a safe sex lesson!

  Yeah. Easy was an understatement.

  Deb cocked her head, watching him with amusement. “Well, no one ever said you couldn’t go back to that short, powerless existence. Just take some elixir, hun, and stop your whining.”

  “Elixir? What do you mean, elixir?”

  “Some magic witch’s brew that reverses the change. It’s very rare, and obscenely expensive, but it exists.”

  He couldn’t believe what she was saying. Six months after the attack left him changed, and he was only now hearing about this?

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

  Another shrug. “You never asked.”

  6

  There was an elixir.

  As Adam walked out of Debbie’s house, strolling along the street of the Bumptown, he couldn’t stop thinking about what she said.

  So what if most Paras thought it was a rumor? A hoax? Debbie had been around a long time—the first Dayborn to settle in this area—and if he could trust anyone to know what she was talking about, it was Deb.

  If only she could’ve had even more answers for him. Even though she said it was rare, he hoped she might have some kind of idea where he could start his search.

  The irony was not lost on him when, with a bubbly laugh, she admitted that his best bet would be to ask a slayer.

  Right. As if he hadn’t already been looking for even the flimsiest of excuses to go running back to Tabitha. He remembered where she lived. He could find the place again.

  And then… what?

  Bite her again? Or have her laugh in his face when he asked her for help finding the elixir?

  And that’s if she didn’t just reach for a stake first.

  Ugh.

  So lost in the sudden, world-altering realization that there might be a way to go back to being human again, Adam made a goof. He forgot for a second where he was. He forgot that, while he was even more dangerous now, he wasn’t the biggest threat in the Bumptown.

  “Hey, cop. Long time, no see.”

  Adam’s head jerked up.

  Leaning against a nearby tree, his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for Adam to notice him, stood Colton Wolfe. And, because it was rare that he’d let his mate out of his sight, Adam noticed Shea standing not too far from him. Her thick, glossy black curls were piled high up on her head, the more business-y clothes she wore for her shop swapped for a loose t-shirt and a pair of denim cut-offs.

  Something told him that the mated couple wasn’t just out on a honeymoon stroll beneath the moonlight.

  “Pretty boy.” Adam whistled under his breath. “I should’ve known. Let me guess. Your ghost pal snitched on me.”

  “Dodge?” Colt’s eyebrows rose, a pair of dark slashes in his preternaturally handsome face. “You’ve seen him?”

  “Maybe. I saw something. Might’ve been a ghost.”

  The flicker out of the corner of his eye, the way he sensed that someone had been watching him approach Deb’s house… yeah. It might’ve been a ghost.

  “Sunset Boulevard isn’t too far from Cemetery Row. It could’ve been a phantom, even if it wasn’t Dodge,” Shea murmured to her mate. When he nodded, a begrudging agreement, the pretty witch waved over at Adam. “Hi, Adam.”

  “Hey.” He waved back. “You look good, Shea.”

  Colt let out a warning growl.

  Adam ignored it. Once upon a time, he might have bristled, maybe even squared off against the shifter. Nowadays, to Colt’s annoyance and Adam’s surprise, the two were actually kind of, sort of pals. Colt was a good guy to have in your corner, loyal and smart, even if his temper made him a bit of a hothead. He loved his mate and was devoted to protecting her.

  Adam got that.

  He still fucking hated Maddox Wolfe, though.

  “Change your mind about staying in Grayson?” Colt shot over at him. “Looking for a place of your own in Little Transylvania?”

  Give up the house he worked his ass off to pay for in exchange for a tiny closet living near other Nightwalkers?

  “What? No. Not happening.”

  “Then what are you doing in my territory?”

  The Bumptown might be a settlement made up of all different kinds of paranormals, but the Zoo—the area claimed by shifters who wanted to live further out of complete pack control—had the most residents and took up the most space. As an alpha wolf shifter, Colt was the de facto leader. When he said my territory, he meant it.

  There was no point in lying. Colt might not have Adam’s unerring former cop’s instinct, but he didn’t need it. He could tell from the way a person’s scent changed whether they were telling the truth or being dishonest.

  He gave a jerk with his shoulder. “Visiting Deb. That’s all.”

  “Yeah? Were you gonna stop by our place when you were done?”

  Adam’s silence answered the question for him.

  Colt pointed a finger at him. Since his wolf wasn’t currently riding the shifter, it was a blunt finger. In a heartbeat, if Colt lost control, it could be a claw that rivaled Adam’s own. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

  “I went down to the apothecary just the other night.”

  True. He’d been looking for anything that would help him with the renewed thirst ruling him. When he first was turned into a Nightwalker, he spent weekly sessions with Shea at her shop, allowing her healing magic to wash over him in an attempt to dull the worst of the thirst. It wasn’t long before he realized that the only way he’d get over it was by getting past his aversion to drinking blood.

  Only a few nights ago, he stopped by right before she closed up, asking if she’d be willing to give healing him one last try. Forever helpful and kind, she did, but the healing didn’t take.

  So then he vis
ited Hudson Moonshadow.

  Claudia had been there. Two other of Hudson’s Donor buddies, but Claudia was the only one to stand out. She was a beauty, with a come-hither stare in her black eyes. Like the first time he met her at Hudson’s place, she offered him a bite, though he knew from the lust pouring off of her that she’d give him even more than that.

  That’s when he knew that he was in deep shit. Last time? He’d at least felt a tiny twitch.

  This time? His stomach turned. The idea of biting anyone but the little blonde slayer actually made him sick.

  And then it made him pissed because, damn it, he shouldn’t want to bite anyone!

  “I’ve been calling you,” Colt said, cutting into his thoughts. “You haven’t picked up once, cop. Kind of blows holes in your story that you’re not avoiding us.”

  Adam grit his teeth together. He knew Colt only called him that because Adam got a kick out of referring to the clean-shaven, dimple-sporting, too-pretty-for-his-own-good shifter as pretty boy. Since Adam didn’t plan on dropping the teasing nickname anytime soon, he gave up on scowling whenever Colt got him back with cop.

  “Like I said. I saw Shea just the other day.”

  “So it’s just me you’re avoiding? You’re lucky I finally decided to like you. An insult like that would’ve had me snapping my teeth at you in the old days.” Colt barked out a laugh. “God, I fucking miss them.”

  From behind his shades, Adam rolled his eyes. He knew that Colt was just being a dick on purpose. “I heard about your promotion. Congrats.”

  A scowl twisted his pretty features. “That’s actually why I’ve been trying to hunt you down. Ever since Mad got bumped up to the top dog position, he’s been needing me for more and more pack shit. Then with Evangeline… he has half the pack on babysitting duty. I’ve just enough time to spend with my own mate and, if I’m lucky, maybe crank out a piece of woodwork or two a week. But that’s the issue. If I don’t get some time in my shed, my wolf gets an edge. Trust me when I say, none of us wants that. So I can get the pieces done, but that’s about all.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I want you to work for me. Nothing too much, and it would be for me, not the pack. I’ve got the van. Plenty of clients who are willing to sell me lumber at crazy hours, or accept drop-offs and deliveries once the sun’s gone down. Don’t know if you noticed yet, but I ain’t such a friendly guy. Dodge… he can’t help me with this. Shea’s got her shop. Hudson… he’s fucking Hudson, right? You’re the only one I trust with the job.”