fresh. The server returned a few minutes later with a pitcher of Hefeweizen, teriyaki beef skewers and a huge plate of nachos for Corey, along with his always necessary side of Thousand Island dressing.
“So how did you get that nasty-looking raspberry? Looks like it hurt.”
“Skateboarding. Don’t worry.” He held up his hands, a chip clutched between his finger and thumb as he made a goofy okay sign. “Had a helmet on, so chill. A buddy opened up a new indoor skate facility in South Tacoma. One of the rails was slicker than I expected, and bam.”
Dom gave her a dry look and she lifted one eyebrow in a silent question. With the hint of a smile, he shook his head and grabbed another skewer.
“What else have you been up to?” Mackenzie asked as she ran a finger around the thick rim of her beer glass. Dom put a beef skewer on her plate, but she knew it’d sit there untouched. She wasn’t hungry. “Did you get that money I deposited in your account for books?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Corey dipped a cheese- and jalapeсo-laden chip into the Thousand, crammed the whole thing into his mouth and started talking. “Visited Mom the other day and she looked pretty good. Said you and your—” Corey swallowed and laughed, took a swig of his beer. “Sorry, Mom thinks you guys are married.”
Mackenzie glanced at Dom and saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
“What’s Vanessa been up to?” Mackenzie asked, changing the subject. “I’m sorry she couldn’t make it tonight.” Not really, but she felt it was her duty to at least ask about his live-in girlfriend of the past year.
“Same old. Her Seasonal Affective Disorder is giving her a lot of trouble ’cuz of the dark winter and dreary spring. Even with one of those light boxes, she says she’s not getting enough UVA or UVB. All she wants to do is lie around and watch TV.”
Somehow, Mackenzie doubted Vanessa’s bad attitude could be blamed entirely on SAD. She was bitchy in the summer months, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
PAVLOS SNAPPED HIS cell phone shut and glided to the two-way mirror on the far side of the small room. One of his most capable lieutenants was preparing for an important pickup. He was to report back as soon as he made the capture, hopefully in the next few days.
He watched through the glass as two Darkblood doctors, outfitted with personal oxygen masks, strapped a struggling woman to a laboratory table. Too bad she couldn’t be tranquilized for the tests, as he’d like to be in the room and personally oversee the whole procedure. But he just couldn’t tolerate a screaming human unless he had his teeth embedded in soft flesh, and then it would be sweet music when the sound vibrated against his lips. Without the vein, it was fingernails on a chalkboard.
Considering her dyed hair and the faint wrinkles around her eyes, he guessed her age to be around forty-five. Rather remarkable she’d lived this long, he thought as her legs went into the stirrups. Sweetblood was compelling to all vampires, and even neophytes made mistakes.
With a ring-laden hand, he wiped the corner of his mouth as he watched the action unfold. It had been at least three weeks since he’d drunk off the hoof from a sweetblood and he was so damned thirsty. And the weak energies in this god-awful place weren’t helping, either. Why the hell did any vampire choose to live up here?
Although he couldn’t wait to get back home, he had been dreaming of this day forever. The day all vampires would look back on and recognize as a defining moment in their history. A history that he’d shaped and created. Would he have a day named in his honor? A statue erected? Euphoria lifted him off his feet and he ghosted closer to the window.
Soon everyone would see him as the reformer he was, bringing glory back to their kind, elevating them to the top of the food chain again, where they rightly belonged. All those doubters, those weak Council followers, would bow down before him.
He wiped his dripping hands on the folds of his black robe. Yes. Those who’d laughed him off as a feeble, ineffectual youthling would be forced to admit he was right. That their kind did become stronger on a diet consisting strictly of human blood.
A heady scent poured off his skin and he inhaled. It was the scent of a leader.