Free Blood Hunt by Lee Killough Page B

languid thought...certainly stronger than she looked, to be holding up someone of his weight so easily. The maiden was powerful, just like I Ching said.
    But with that thought lassitude disappeared. Fear rose up through him like a jet of ice water. Two men the singer knew had died of blood loss. Now she kissed his neck in the very spot where the other men had punctures and bruises and he felt himself weakening, too! With a profound shock of horror and revulsion, he realized why. Lane Barber was sucking his blood!
    He shuddered and tried to pull loose, pushing at her shoulders with his hands. His body obeyed only sluggishly, however, and when she noticed his effort, her body pressed harder against his, pinning him to the wall.
    Use your gun, you dumb flatfoot .
    But her hand easily kept him from reaching it.
    Abandoning pride in favor of self-preservation, he opened his mouth to yell for help. Her hand clamped across his mouth, silencing him.
    Garreth’s breath caught in fear. He no longer had the strength to fight her. Only her weight against him held him upright. She was killing him, as she had killed Adair and Mossman — were human teeth really sharp enough to bite through skin into veins? Where had she learned such depravity? Do something, man! Fight her! Stay alive!
    In desperation, he bit at her hand to make her let go of his mouth. He sank his teeth in deep, using all his fading strength. Skin gave way. Her blood filled his mouth, burning like fire. Convulsively, he swallowed, and his throat burned, too...but with the fire came a surge of new strength.
    Lane jerked the hand to free it, but he bit harder, making the most of the opportunity to hurt her. More blood scorched down his throat. He managed to bring both hands up to her shoulders and push her back.
    But it was too little effort coming too late. She tore loose from him, her hand from his mouth and her mouth from his throat. He felt her teeth rip through his flesh. As she backed away from him, he fell, collapsing to the ground.
    The pain of striking the ground barely reached him. He only saw, not felt, the blood streaming from his torn throat to make a crimson pool around his head. A suffocating fog muffled all sensation...touch, sound, and smells.
    “ Good-bye, lover,” a distant, mocking voice said. “Rest in peace.”
    Her footsteps receded into the darkness. Garreth tried to move, to drag himself to the mouth of the alley where he might find help, but a leaden heaviness weighted him down, leaving him helpless. He could not move, only stare into the growing pool of blood draining from him. He cursed his stupidity...for coming after her alone, for not letting someone know what he had found out, but most of all, as his breathing and heartbeat stumbled, faltered, and faded, he cursed himself for underestimating her...just what I Ching warned against. How could he explain this to Marti when he saw her?
    See the idiot cop , he thought bitterly. See him bleeding to death . . . dying alone in a cold and dirty alley .
     
     
    Passage
     
    1
     
    Rest in peace. Like hell. Death was not peace. It led not to Marti, nor to any kind of heaven . . . not even to oblivion. Death was not that kind. Death was hell.
    It was dreams...nightmares of suffocation and pain, of restless discomfort, of aches impossible to ease, of itches impossible to scratch. It was hallucination invading the void, playing blurrily before half-open eyes unable to focus or follow...imaginary hands on him, patting him, then lights, footsteps, sirens, voices.
    Oh, God! Call the watch commandeer.
    I didn’t kill him, Officer! I’d never kill no cop, and anyway how could I do that to him? I just took the gun and stuff out of his pockets. Would I show you where the body was if I’d done it?
    Garreth?
    Easy, Takananda.
    Garreth! Oh, God, no!
    He hasn’t been dead long; he’s still warm.
    Are there loose dogs in this area ?
    Death was hell, and hell was dreams, but mostly, hell was