Blood Price

II, and he'd wandered into the WRENS' bathroom by mistake. "Vampires, ha! I must be getting senile."

    Vicki sagged against the inside of the door, reaction weakening her knees. That had been too close. Flipping the living room light back on, she picked her way carefully back to Henry.

    His eyes were open and he had flung one arm up to shield them from the glare.

    "Feeling better?" she asked.

    "That depends . . . better than what?" He swung his legs off the couch and dragged himself up into a sitting position. He hadn't felt this bad in a very long time.

    Vicki reached out and steadied him when he almost toppled. "Apparently Mr. Stoker didn't exaggerate when he mentioned the recuperative powers of vampires."

    Henry tried a smile. It wasn't particularly successful. "Mr. Stoker was a hack." He rotated his shoulders and stretched out both legs. Everything seemed to work, although not well and not without pain. "Who was the boy?"

    "His name's Tony. He's been on the street since he was a kid. He's very good at accepting people for what they are."

    "Even vampires?"

    She studied his face. He didn't look angry. "Even vampires. And he knows what it's like to want to be left alone."

    "You trust him?"

    "Implicitly. Or I'd have thought of something else. Someone else." Although what or who she had no idea. She hadn't even thought of Celluci. Not once. Which only goes to prove that even half-conscious, I'm smarter than I look. Celluci's reaction would not have been supportive. I suppose I could've robbed the Red Cross. "You needed more, but you wouldn't ..."

    "Couldn't," he interrupted quietly. "If I'd taken more, I'd have taken it all." His eyes below the purple and green bruise that marked his forehead were somber. "Too much blood from one person, and we risk losing control. I could feel your life, and I could feel the desire rising to take it."

    She smiled then, she couldn't help it.

    "What?" Henry saw nothing to smile about. They'd both come very close to death this night.

    "A line from a children's book just popped into my head, it's not like he's a tame lion. You're not at all tame, are you? For all you look so civilized."

    He thought about it for a moment., "No, I guess by your standards I'm not. Does that frighten you?"

    Both brows went up and fell again almost immediately. She was just too tired to maintain the expression. "Oh, please."

    He smiled then and lifted her hand, turning the wrist to the light. "Thank you," he said, one finger softly tracing the line of the vein.

    Every hair on Vicki's body stood on end and she had to swallow before she could speak.
    "You're welcome. I'd have done the same for anyone."

    Still holding her hand, his smile grew slightly puzzled. "You're wearing my dressing gown."

    Pushing her glasses up her nose, Vicki tried not to glance at the pile of clothing dumped on the dining room table. "It's a long story." She let him pull her down beside him and nervously wet her lips. Her skin throbbed under his hand. And he's not even touching anything interesting.

    Then his expression changed and she twisted to see what had caused such a look of horrified disbelief. One door of the wall unit, glass still surprisingly intact, swung open.

    "The demon," Henry told her, his voice echoing his expression, "has the grimoire."

Thirteen
    Henry lurched to his feet and stood swaying. "I must. . . ."

    Vicki reached up and guided him down onto the couch as he fell. "Must what? You're in no shape to go anywhere."

    "I must get the grimoire back before the Demon Lord is called." He shook off her hands and stood again, shoulders set. "If I begin now, I might be able to track the demon, In order to carry the grimoire it must maintain a physical form."

    "Track it how?"

    "Scent."

    Vicki glanced at the balcony and back to Henry. "Forget it. It has wings. It'll be flying. I don't care what you are, you can't track something if there's nothing for it to leave its scent on ."

    "But . . ."

    "But nothing. If you weren't what you were, you'd be dead. Trust me. I may not have seen the centuries of death you have, but I've seen enough to tell."

    She was right. Henry walked to the window and rested his forehead gently against the glass.
    Cool and smooth, it helped to ease the ache in his head. Everything worked, but everything hurt.
    He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this weak or in this much pain and his body, now that the initial rush of energy that came with feeding had passed, was