Better Off Undead - Cynthia Eden Page 0,18

structure. No one noticed him when he slipped toward the group.

There are always stragglers in a group like this…

“Madame LaLaurie was rumored to be the ringleader, the one who ordered one of her servants to have her mouth sewn shut! Madame and her doctor husband created human spiders, they chained their victims to operating room tables…” The tour guide turned away, telling more of his grisly tales as he headed down the street.

The small group followed him.

All except…one woman. She stopped. She tilted up her camera and snapped pictures of the house.

Vincent smiled. “You like…scary stories.”

She gave a little jerk, then turned toward him in surprise. He was still in the shadows. The better for him to hide the blood soaking him. The woman’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail, giving him a delectably tempting view of her neck. She laughed, the sound high and nervous, before she said, “Isn’t that why we’re all on the paranormal tour? Because we like to be scared?”

He wasn’t on any tour.

She turned away. “Better hurry up. The others are getting ahead of us.”

He moved quickly, catching her arm. “I want them to get ahead.”

“G-get your hand off me.”

“I’m sorry.” He was. He didn’t normally feed this way. “But I have a need…”

She twisted against him. The woman opened her mouth to scream—

His left hand clamped over her lips. He bit her, his fangs sinking deep, and her blood spilled onto his tongue.

Chapter Five

Aidan was still asleep. Jane tip-toed around the apartment. Their apartment, she supposed. After her place had been torched, she’d planned to find a new place to live. She was still in that whole new-home hunt. But, meanwhile, Aidan had told her that he kept an apartment in the city, one that they could use for as long as she liked.

He’d had a heavy emphasis on the they part.

The apartment wasn’t Aidan’s home, not his real one, anyway. He had a massive, antebellum mansion—a serious freaking mansion—out in the swamp. But the place was pretty much werewolf central, and Jane didn’t like staying there. The one time she’d visited the place, all hell had truly broken loose.

So she and Aidan had been compromising with the little apartment in the French Quarter. A place that had top of the line security and a real killer view.

She felt safe in that apartment.

Even with a vampire loose in the city.

Normally, Jane worked nights. Since she was the cop on the paranormal beat, it paid to stay up when the monsters were out. But to learn information about Alan Thatcher, well, she intended to do her research on him during the day.

When I’m not as likely to run into a vamp again.

Jane tip-toed toward the door. She and Aidan hadn’t talked when they got to the apartment. They’d collapsed. Or rather, he’d collapsed. She’d huddled in the bed, the vamp’s words playing in her head again and again.

What had bothered her most…

I’m afraid he’s right. If I do change…what will Aidan do? What did she want him to do?

Jane opened the door and slipped outside.

There weren’t any werewolf guards waiting to tail her. She didn’t normally have a day shift of guards. Vamps weren’t out during the day—they were weaker during the sunlight hours. So her guards just kicked in when the sun set.

She hurried down the stairs, moving down to the first floor, and a few moments later, Jane was outside of the building. The streets gleamed, and she could see the heavy suds washing down the gutters. The street cleaners got out early in the city. Bourbon Street was their number one spot each day—she didn’t even want to think about the things they cleaned up there.

It wasn’t a long walk to the Voodoo Shop, even with a quick pit-stop.

Voodoo Shop. Simple name, straight to the point. A CLOSED sign hung in the window, but Jane didn’t let that stop her. She walked up the narrow porch—the shop had once been an old home, and actually, she still thought Annette Benoit had a place upstairs—and she knocked on the door. For good measure, Jane called out, “It’s the police! Let me in!”

And then she waited, her right shoe tapping against the wood beneath her. A few moments later, she heard the soft pad of footsteps rushing toward the door.

Her shoulders straightened.

The door opened with a squeak. Annette Benoit’s narrowed eyes swept over her. It was just a few hours past dawn, and it really didn’t seem fair that Annette looked so insanely