Blood Pact

you think? There'll be an autopsy, an inquest, and questions you don't have the answer to will be asked.”

    "So she just disappears . . .”

    "Yes. Yet another unsolved mystery.”

    "And I'll have to act as though I have no idea if she's dead or alive.”

    Henry lifted his head and allowed a hint of power to touch his voice. "Mourn her as dead, Detective.”

    Celluci didn't bother to pretend that he misunderstood. He jerked his gaze from Vicki and recklessly met the vampire's eyes.
    "Mourn her regardless? Fuck you. You tell me what happens, Fitzroy. If she disappears because she's dead, I'll mourn her. If she disappears into the night with you, I'll . . ." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "I'll miss her like I'd miss a part of myself but I won't mourn her if she isn't any more dead than you are.”

    Since they'd found her dying in the lab, Henry had been measuring time by Vicki's heartbeat. He let three go by while he studied Mike Celluci's soul. "You really mean that," he said at last. He found it difficult to believe. Found it impossible not to believe.

    "Yeah." The word caught in Celluci's throat. "I really mean it." He swallowed and fought for control. Then his eyes widened.
    "What do you mean, you have to feed?”

    "You should know what that means by now.”

    "On who?”

    "I could hunt." Except that he was so incredibly tired. The night had already lasted longer than any night he could remember. It seemed a pity to hunt when there was . . . He allowed the power to rise a little more.

    "Stop it. I know what you're trying." With an effort, Celluci wrenched his gaze away and back to the woman on the bed. She was still alive. All that really mattered was keeping her that way. He'd made that decision back in the lab. He'd stand by it now. "If it includes anything but sucking blood, you can fucking well order takeout.”

    Astounded by the offer, Henry felt his brows rise. "It needn't include anything but sucking blood, Detective. It's not nourishment I need so much as refueling.”

    "All right, then." Celluci shrugged out of his jacket, dropping it carefully inside out so as not to stain the carpet, and began to roll up his sleeve. "Wrist, right?”

    "Yes." Henry shook his head, wonder and respect about equally mixed in his voice. "You know, in four and a half centuries, I've never met a man quite like you. In spite of everything, you offer me your blood?”

    "Yeah. In spite of everything." With one last look at Vicki, he turned and lowered himself onto the end of the bed. "At the risk of offending, after what went down tonight," he sighed, "this doesn't seem like much. Besides, I'm doing it for her. Right now, as far as I'm concerned, you're just a primitive branch of the Red Cross. Get on with it.”

    Henry lifted the offered arm, then looked up at Celluci, his eyes dark, the smallest hint of a smile brushing against the outside corners of his lips. "You know, it's a shame there's so much between us, Detective.”

    Celluci felt the heat and tossed the curl of hair back off his forehead. "Don't press your luck, you undead son of a bitch.”

    As he carried her out the door, her life still balanced on the razor's edge, Henry paused. "Doesn't it gnaw at you," he asked at last, unable to leave with knowing, "that at the end she chose me?”

    Celluci reached out and gently tucked her glasses into the pocket of her coat. Her purse and her suitcase had already been loaded in Henry's car.

    "She didn't choose you," he said, stepping back and rubbing at the bandage on his wrist. "She chose the one chance she had to live. I refuse to feel bad about that.”

    "She could still die.”

    "See that she doesn't.”

    A thousand thoughts between one faltering heartbeat and the next. "I'll do my best.”

    Celluci nodded, acknowledging truth; then he bent forward and kissed her gently on lips that felt less warm than they had.

    "Good-bye, Vicki.”

    And there wasn't anything more he could say.

    He dealt with Detective Fergusson. Explained Vicki had had a bit of a breakdown, perfectly understandable under the circumstances, and gone back to Toronto with a friend. "I'll let her know what happened . . .”

    He dealt with the contents of her mother's apartment, calling an estate auctioneer and putting everything in his hands. "Just sell it.
    The money goes to the lawyer until the will clears probate, so what's the problem.”

    He dealt with Mr. Delgado.

    "I saw her leave in his car; through my window." The old man