"A wise philosophy." Claire pointed to the puffy chocolate painted with dark red stripes. "What's this one?" "Dark chocolate with raspberry puree. Would you like one?" There was that studying glance again. And as Claire looked at him now, she felt the tiniest flicker of recognition. "I'm sorry," he said, frowning. "Have we met?" "No, I don't think so." He chuckled, scratching his grizzled chin. "You just look like someone I knew a long time ago. The spitting image, in fact." "Is that right?" Claire asked, her attention drifting down to the brass-plated name tag that bore the store's logo and the shopkeeper's name: Robert Vincent. "I don't believe I know you." "It's the darnedest thing. You look exactly like a classmate of mine from high school. Does the name Claire Samuels mean anything to you?" Beside her now, Andreas had gone stock still and deadly silent. Claire blinked, startled to hear her maiden name come out of the man's mouth. Of course she could have been classmates with him. She'd left the States to study abroad when she was twenty. If not for Wilhelm Roth's blood and the unusual chemical makeup of her own body, she would show similar outward signs of middle age. Instead, she looked essentially the same as she had thirty years ago. "M-my mother," she stammered. "You must be thinking of my mother." "Ah!" His smile went even wider now. "Your mother, of course. Good Lord, you could be her twin." Claire smiled.
"I hear that from time to time." "We should be on our way," Andreas interjected, a dark tone in his voice. "How is your mother?" the shopkeeper asked. "Good," Claire replied. "She's been living overseas for many years." "I used to have such a thing for her back in school. She was the prettiest girl in our class--one of the kindest, too. And brother, did she know how to play the piano. That's where I first met her, you see.
I was the conductor's assistant in our high school symphony." "Buddy Vincent," Claire blurted, remembering the endearing but awkward boy as she stared into the time-worn face of an aging, mortal man. "She's mentioned me to you, then?" He beamed. Andreas cleared his throat impatiently, but Claire ignored it. "You were always very sweet," she told Buddy, recalling how he'd often tried to make her feel welcome and special at a time when being different wasn't always the easiest thing. "It meant a lot to her that you were her friend." "Well," he said, his thin chest puffing out a bit now. He walked over to pick up one of the small gift boxes and began filling it with several pieces of the two chocolates that had caught Claire's eye. "It was never a chore being nice to a beautiful young lady. When you speak to her next, please tell your mother I send my best." "I will," Claire said. He came back and handed her the filled box. "Enjoy these, with my compliments." "Are you sure?" "We'll pay for them," Andreas said at the same time. "How much are they?" Buddy only shook his head. "I wouldn't dream of taking your money. Please. They're a gift." Claire reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, Buddy. It was a pleasure seeing you."
"You take care now. You and your beautiful mother both." Claire said a polite good-bye to her former classmate, and Andreas ushered her outside in an oddly brooding silence. More than that, he seemed downright irritated about something. "Are you...jealous?" He snorted. "Please." "You are!" Claire threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, I don't believe this. You walk through a crowd and every head turns, female and male alike. I happen to catch the eye of a harmless old man--" "No man is harmless, Claire." "Buddy Vincent is easily fifty years old and as sweet as a kitten," she pointed out, still smiling and thoroughly amused. "He's still male," Andreas all but growled. "And he is still watching us." "Yeah?" Claire grabbed the front of his shirt to get his attention. "Then why don't you stop looking at him and kiss me instead." With a dark gaze that promised more than kisses, Andreas did exactly what she asked.
Chapter Seventeen
Kade caught the scent of freshly spilled human blood only a couple hours into the night's patrol. "Down that alley" he said to Brock and Chase, who both nodded their agreement in silence. The three warriors headed off together, stealthy, weapons drawn and ready to fire, as they started down the lightless stretch of asphalt that separated two old brick buildings in the seedier part of town. The narrow strip of pavement was foul with the stench of human waste and rotting garbage. But none of that could disguise the coppery tang that emanated from the other side of a dilapidated Dumpster. Kade reached the dead human first. It was a young female this time, savaged just as brutally as the male he and Brock had found last night. Unfortunately for her, the vampire who'd butchered her throat had also had a taste for something else. Her short skirt was shredded down the front and gory with blood. Her bright pink painted fingernails were broken, her knees scraped, as if she had tried unsuccessfully to get away from her killer. "Jesus," Brock muttered under his breath.
"This girl is somebody's daughter. Maybe somebody's sister. What kind of f**king animal would do--" Chase's fist went up in a signal to cut the chatter. He pointed to the rooftops above their heads. Someone was up there. The crunch of a footstep traveled down to the alley on the quiet of the clear autumn night. Was it Hunter? This new corpse sure seemed to fit his apparent pastime. "I'm going up," Chase mouthed. "Not without backup," Kade replied, but the ex-agent was already in motion. He holstered his weapon and leapt up onto the Dumpster in silence before jumping from there to grab the bottom of a black fire escape on the building. With hardly a sound, he scaled the rickety iron steps, then vaulted up and onto the roof. Gunfire erupted the instant Chase disappeared from view. "Ah, shit," Brock hissed. "That crazy motherfucker. You take the stairwell inside; I'm going up the escape after him." They took off via separate routes to the roof, both of them arriving within seconds to find Chase lying in a pool of his own blood, bleeding from a ferocious chest wound. He was badly hit, but breathing. "Son of a bitch," Kade said as he raced to the fallen warrior's side. "Not... him," Chase groaned, grimacing with the effort. "Wasn't Hunter..."