Ravenous (Triskaidekaphilia Book 2)

  RAVENOUS

  Triskaidekaphilia: Book Two

  Edited by Ariel Jade

  Pen and Kink Publishing

  CANADA

  All copyright for individual stories remains with original authors

  Anthology copyright © 2017 by Ariel Jade

  “We’ll Always Have Rome” © 2017 by Wendy Nikel

  “Light Play” © 2017 by Jaap Boekestein

  “Forever Dead” © 2015 by Sara Dobie Bauer

  “In a Quiet Village” © 2017 by Violet R. Jones

  “Palladian Excursions” © 2015 by V. Hummingbird

  “Sweeter Than Blood” © 2016 by Dale Cameron Lowry

  “The Eyes of a Stranger” © 1998 by R. Michael Burns

  “A Taste of Revolution” © 2017 by Tiffany Michelle Brown

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  www.penandkinkpub.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout based on one © 2014 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Cover design by Amanda C. Davis using stock art licensed from Fotolia.

  Ravenous/ Ariel Jade. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-988233-25-3 (Physical)

  ISBN 978-1-988233-26-0 (Electronic)

  CONTENTS

  We’ll Always Have Rome

  Light Play

  Forever Dead

  In a Quiet Village

  Palladian Excursions

  Sweeter Than Blood

  The Eyes of a Stranger

  A Taste of Revolution

  Top Five Things I Love About Vampires

  WENDY NIKEL

  We’ll Always Have Rome

  Any being in this part of the city who happened to have fangs, a deathly pallor, and a lust for blood eventually found his or her way to Theo's. The password was whispered—too softly for mortal ears to hear—in all the places one might expect to find such delicate information: within ancient crypts and over freshly turned graves, behind the closed doors of taxidermy clinics and blood banks, and hovering over mortuary slabs.

  To the unturned eye, Theo's was a coffee shop like any other, save for the distinct lack of mirrors. Even the syrup bottles lining the shelves overhead had been carefully selected for the dark tint of their glass and their enlarged labels, so that only the barista, from his position behind the counter, could distinguish who did and did not possess a reflection.

  Theo had expected Marquis to show up that morning, for the hook-nosed scoundrel was always eager to take advantage of others' problems, and the recent anti-vampire legislation was bound to cause trouble for more than a few of Theo's regulars, if not the owner himself.

  Marquis always introduced himself as a journalist because it made him seem important, and he was clever enough in his conversation that no one could tell when he was bluffing about who and what he claimed to know. Those who knew him understood that the journalism thing was just a freelance gig and that his real profits came from dealing in the black market. And that, Theo was certain, was what had brought Marquis to the dimly lit shop that morning.

  "You ought to watch yourself," Marquis warned Theo, swigging his second cup of coffee. "You serve plenty unusual types here, and that new Van Helsing Division will jump at any chance to launch a full investigation."

  "You know I've got nothing to hide," Theo said, concentrating on pouring another drink into the cracked ceramic mug so as not to meet his eye.

  "Right… right. Fact is, that's what I've come down here for." Marquis leaned across the table, his elbows shifting the newspaper before him, and lowered his voice. "I got my hands on some antidote."

  The coffee sloshed out of the mug—liquid that they both knew contained more than just brewed beans, but also ingredients of a more… delicate nature, which the new police division would certainly have an interest in. Theo hurried to mop it up with the red dishtowel from his belt.

  "Antidote?" Theo muttered. "For yourself?"

  Marquis laughed. "No profit in that, my friend."

  "No profit in a stake through your heart, either."

  Marquis waved him off. "No one but you knows the truth of it, and we've been friends for years."

  "We've been acquaintances." Theo tucked the dishtowel back into his belt. "And you owe me for that refill."

  Another laugh jiggled Marquis's ample belly as he reached for his wallet. "See, that's what I like about you. You have no loyalties but to yourself. No friends, no family, no connections to muddle things up or give away your secrets. That's why you and me, we're going to make it through this thing, just like we did before when society tried to shut out our kind. Come on now, surely you can point me to someone who could make use of this." Marquis slipped a package from his jacket pocket and slid it beneath the paper napkin marked "Theo's."

  "You can't be serious." Theo's eyes flicked to all the corners of his shop, to the regular patrons in their regular seats, sipping their regular—and not-so-regular—drinks.

  "I'll give you a cut. All I need is a buyer." Marquis smiled broadly, and for a brief second, Theo could see the line at his gums, the only visible sign that he was wearing false teeth over his real ones to disguise the elongated canines.

  Theo ran his tongue along the line on his own gums, tasting there the hint of blood remaining from his own morning pick-me-up. Marquis was wrong if he thought he was going to give up anyone else's secrets.

  Theo didn't even have time to devise his response before the front door burst open, sending white-hot light streaming across the dim shop. Three silhouettes blocked the line, and three sets of utterly human eyes—unused to the dim ambiance—squinted into the room. They wore the badges of the city's new Van Helsing Division.

  "Marquis Delarose," the police officer in the center announced. "You're under arrest."

  "There must be some mistake." Marquis stood, but his hands scrambled frantically at the table behind him, searching for the syringes. "What’s this about, gentlemen?"

  "It's about the trafficking of illegal goods. Hands up."

  "Theo," Marquis hissed as they handcuffed him. "Theo, you've got to help me!"

  "How well do you know this man?" The shortest of the officers turned to Theo.

  "No better than I know any of my customers. Double americano… two or three if he was out drinking the night before."

  The officer studied him, trying to tell, perhaps, if his skin tone was natural or spray-tan, if his eyes possessed an unnatural hue. Theo stared back, confident in his disguise.

  "You just let us know," the officer said slowly, "if you see anything suspicious around here."

  "I'll certainly do that, officer," Theo said, and with a swish of his dishtowel, he scooped up the syringes from Marquis's table and casually sauntered to the counter. "Can I get you gentlemen something to drink before you take him in?"

  Phoebe Fischer was a classic beauty, with pale skin and red lips and a figure that turned heads regardless of what she was wearing. She wished, however, as she and Cabolt stepped up to the darkened coffee shop, that she'd worn something to cover her face. A veil, perhaps. Or a ski mask.

  "A
re you certain this is the place?" she asked, though she knew what the answer would be. Cabolt was never uncertain about anything in his life, and what's more, he had a way of convincing everyone else that they were just as certain. That's what made him such an effective politician—he’d quickly moved up the ranks and was now in the race for governor. And that was precisely what had brought them here.

  "Last week, a man was arrested here for possession of the antidote." His whisper ruffled the hair about her ears, and despite the weightiness of the topic, his nearness and the intensity of his voice sent a cool shiver down her spine. Centuries they'd been together, and still she couldn't get over how lucky she was to be with him. "The syringes weren't found on his person, nor in his apartment or his car. Which might lead one to believe…"

  "That it's still here." She sighed. There was no denying his logic, though she'd have given practically anything to avoid entering that particular shop. There was something about the heavy curtains, the old-fashioned stonework, the understated sign displaying its owner's name, that made her suspect that this Theo might be her Theodore. But surely not. It'd been years—centuries—since she'd seen him, and half a world away, at that. The height of Rome, and what a height it had been.

  If Cabolt was a cool breeze on her skin, making her feel refreshed and comforted and secure, then Theodore had been a flame, burning fast and hot and leaving a permanent mark upon her that was a strange mix of pain and pleasure, even so many years later.

  "Phoebe?" Cabolt held open the door, his head tipped ever so slightly in that endearing manner of his. "You're with me on this, aren't you? If you're uncertain—"

  "No." Phoebe shook the memories of that fortnight in Rome from her head and took Cabolt's arm. "You needn't worry about me. I'm completely behind you, no matter what."

  Of all the coffee shops in all the cities in all the world, she walked into his.

  Theo was behind the espresso bar, adding a shot of AB-negative to a customer's latte, when she blew through the door on the arm of none other than the one politician who'd promised to shut down the Van Helsing Division. Cabolt—yes, that was his name. Theo's patrons had been talking about him for weeks, calling him their savior, their hero, their only hope. Theo might have been tempted to admire the guy as well, had he not been holding the one woman Theo had ever truly loved.

  "Phoebe?" The name escaped his lips before he could help himself, and suddenly she was there, looking at him with those eyes and smiling at him with those lips. For a moment, Cabolt was forgotten, and they were back in Rome, walking the gardens and attending the theater, and then his teeth were at her neck, and she was begging him to change her, change her so they could be together unto eternity.

  "Hello, Theodore," she said softly, and she looked up at the other man, breaking the spell of Theo's memories. "I'd like to introduce Cabolt, my husband. You may know him from—"

  "From his political ads. Nice to meet you." Theo reached over the counter to shake the man's hand. "I'm not normally one to follow politics, but it seems you're causing quite a stir."

  "Yes. Well, that's what I wish to speak to you about. I had no idea that you knew my wife…"

  "Used to," Theo said, not meeting Phoebe's eye. "A long time ago."

  The politician glanced over his shoulder, surveying the otherwise-empty shop. "Do you have a minute?"

  "I was just about to close shop, but you're welcome to stay while I sweep up," Theo said, trying to keep his voice steady and light as he flipped the sign on the door to CLOSED. He knew why Cabolt was here. It was obvious as soon as he turned up with Phoebe on his arm. After all, what man wouldn't sacrifice his humanity for an eternity with her? And yet, he'd heard the media's call for testing of elected officials as well. Seems Cabolt was in a fix—one that could be solved with the syringes currently tucked away inside the top of the espresso bar.

  Theo busied himself in wiping down tables while Cabolt and Phoebe stood, exchanging other glances only they could comprehend, glances that tore at Theo's long-stilled heart, for he remembered a time when he, too, had been able to read her eyes so easily.

  "What can I help you with?" Theo asked, unable to stand the silence any longer.

  Cabolt cleared his throat. "I'm going to come right out and tell you the truth. Since you know Phoebe, you might've already guessed. Let's just say I have a personal stake in this anti-vampire legislation, and my opponents have begun to suspect as much. I'm ahead in the polls, but there's no way they'll let me take over as governor in my… current condition. I hear you may have something that can help. You understand, I'm sure, how critical it is to have someone in office who's sympathetic. All I need are those two syringes."

  "Two?" Theo ran his broom noisily into a table.

  "Well, yes." Cabolt clutched Phoebe's hand. "My wife—"

  "Like I said, I don't follow politics," Theo interrupted. He couldn't bear to hear the man in his fancy suit and tie wax poetically about Phoebe. Phoebe, who'd promised him her eternity, who'd begged him to change her so they could be together. To "cure" her now… to condemn her to such a short and insignificant life of fading beauty and failing body… he couldn't bear the thought. He snatched up his dishrag and headed toward the back door. "I'm sorry. I can't help you. You can let yourself out."

  "But… What? Why won't you help?"

  "Ask your wife."

  Cabolt moved to block his path, but Phoebe put a hand on her husband's chest, muttering something to him that even Theo's keen hearing couldn't pick up. Regardless, he was glad she'd stopped him. Theo was on the verge of tearing him apart.

  He closed the door to the back room behind him and sighed. Cabolt was a clever man; he'd find another solution. Theo popped his false teeth from his mouth and scoured the storage room shelves for some O-negative. He desperately needed a drink.

  "I don't understand," Cabolt said, resting his head in his hands. "What happened between you two that he'd act like that? We all know he has the syringes."

  Phoebe bit her lip, her elongated canine dulled by the false teeth she wore over it. She'd never told Cabolt about that fortnight in Rome. It would kill him, knowing she'd chosen this life, that it hadn't been a random attack that left her in this condition, like she'd allowed him to believe. If only she'd told him the truth right away and let him walk away from her then…

  No. It was good things had turned out like this, that she'd turned Cabolt all those centuries ago. If she hadn't, he wouldn't be here now to be the savior the vampires needed.

  "Go back to the hotel." She set her hand on his shoulder, thinking of how it was so broad and strong, how it had to be because a lesser man would have been crushed under the weight of his responsibilities and all the hopes and expectations he carried. "I'll talk with Theodore and convince him to give us the syringes."

  "You… you think you can?"

  "I have to try."

  Phoebe pressed her lips to his, and they tingled pleasantly. She'd do anything for him, to see him successful, his goals realized. Even if it meant breaking his heart.

  The bell on the front door jangled, and Theo—assuming the coast was now clear—took a swig of blood straight from the bottle before reentering the shop. He nearly dropped it in surprise when he saw Phoebe standing there, alone.

  "Theodore," she said softly, and he wondered if she purposely used the same tone she'd used all those years ago when she'd begged him to change her.

  "Go catch up with your husband," Theo said gruffly, throwing back another swig of his drink. "He'll be waiting for you."

  "I want to explain."

  "What's there to explain?"

  "Where I've been. Why I left. I thought he was dead, Theodore. He was a centurion back then, and one of his fellow soldiers told me he'd died in battle. I was devastated. I thought there was nothing left worth living for. Until I met you." She stepped forward, reaching out to take his hands in hers. They were so smooth, so perfect. "You didn't just make me want to live again. You made me want to live forever."
>
  "Just not with me," Theo said bitterly, pulling his hands away. "Tell me, Phoebe. Was any of it real?"

  Phoebe drew back as if struck. "It was all real. I loved you. And I would have stayed with you except that Cabolt wasn't really dead. He'd only been injured, and when I heard, I had to go see him, to… to take away his pain."

  "So that's when you changed him?"

  Phoebe's eyes—brown right now, though Theo could imagine the bright red irises behind her contact lenses—shone as though welling with tears. "Losing him once nearly broke me. I didn't think I could bear it again."

  "And now? You two use those syringes, and you're guaranteeing you'll lose him again. You'll grow old. You'll die. I can't do that to you, Phoebe." Theo's voice cracked and he looked away. What a fool he was, entangling himself again in all these feelings. He'd spent centuries tucking them away, trying to forget, swearing to never care for anyone else again. "I can't bear to think of a world without you."

  Phoebe bit her lip, and Theo could see she was steeling herself for something. "Then just give Cabolt one syringe."

  "One?"

  "Give him the syringe," Phoebe said, "so he can do what needs done. So he can be the hero we all know him to be, and you and I can be together like we'd planned."

  "I thought you couldn't bear to lose him again." Theo couldn't keep the cynicism from his voice. What she suggested was tempting—it was better than he dared hope for—but there had to be a catch.

  "Changing him was selfish," she said quietly. "I like to think I've grown in the centuries since, that I'm capable now of doing what's best for him… what's best for everyone. Even if it is difficult."

  "What does that make me?" Theo scoffed. "The consolation prize?"

  "Never." Phoebe's impossibly smooth arms reached up and around his neck, and gently, ever so gently, she pulled him closer to her perfect face. It had been centuries since he'd felt truly breathless, and his entire body thrummed as though blood were once again pumping through it.