His breath hitched, but his face remained expressionless.
“I won’t scream,” he agreed.
“Good.”
Then I broke the hypnotic spell. I watched, motionless, long enough to savor the pure terror blooming on his face as he realized he was in the same room with a monster every bit as dangerous as he was.
He didn’t run, but he clearly wanted to. Instead, his eyes went big and round. “I—I don’t want to die.”
I was certain none of his victims had wanted to die, either. They’d probably made that rather clear. But he had still killed them anyway.
My smile returned full force. “Good.”
Then I sank my fangs into his neck and drank.
* * *
After I was done with Jerry Winslow—I’d checked the man’s IDafter he took his last struggling, terrified breath—I pulled out my phone and called Detective James Harris, my contact at the LAPD.
“It’s three in the morning,” Harris grumbled, bleary with sleep. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Another dead serial killer,” I told him. “At this rate, Los Angeles will be one of the safest cities in America.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Harris sounded more awake. I heard the rustle of blankets being thrown back, then a light switch clicking on. “You’re calling to tell me you’ve murdered someone.”
“I did, yes. Just now.”
“Wait a second, are you gloating? You are aware that I’m a cop, right?”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a detective. Much sexier.”
“Fuck you.”
“Be honest with me, Detective. It’s the guy you told me about—the one who kills his victims with a hammer. Pretty blonde women, all smashed to bits.” Not that I personally cared one way or the other, but Harris certainly did. “You’re happy he’s gone, aren’t you?”
“I am,” he gritted out, clearly unwilling.
I chuckled. “He’s killed far more than four women, if that’s the sort of thing that helps you sleep better at night.”
“I haven’t gotten much sleep since I met you.”
“Guilty conscience keeping you up?” I asked, too innocent. I allowed myself a deep smile and checked my nails. They were the epitome of perfection, of course.
He swore under his breath, unable to lie to me, even though he clearly wanted to. “No.”
“Well then. It must be something else,” I replied, enjoying myself.
Eight months back, I’d hypnotized Detective Harris into keeping my secrets. In return, I was generous enough to help him with his caseload. He didn’t approve of my methods, of course, but that was his problem, not mine.
I added, “I’d be more than happy to come over and keep you company.”
“Under no circumstances are you ever to come here. We’re not friends. And hell would freeze over before I’d fuck you.”
“It’s because I’m a vampire, isn’t it?” I said, mock-hurt, laying it on thick. “Or is it because you’re not into guys?”
Actually, though I often flirted with him—much to his dismay—in that moment I realized we’d never had this particular conversation before.
“No. It’s because you’re a murderer. It’s a turnoff for me.”
