Kiss Me, Kill Me Read online

  I chuckled again. ‘Do normal people talk like this during sex?’

  ‘Fuck normal people,’ was Greg’s response. That, and a firm thrust of his hips.

  ‘Argh. Aaagh.’ Pant, pant, pant. ‘I’d better be normal, then. ’Cause I like when you fuck me.’

  ‘Don’t you dare be normal. I love you, my crazy girl.’

  ‘I love you, too.’ I fisted my hands in the bedding.

  Greg pulled out abruptly. Pushed in again. Pulled aaall the way out. Repeated.

  ‘Hey! You’re doing it like that on purpose.’

  ‘I said I’d make you fanny fart. I’m a man of my word.’

  ‘It’s not sexy,’ I moaned.

  Then I just plain moaned.

  ‘I think it’s sexy. You do it because I fuck you. I make you do it. Therefore, I like it.’ Pull, thrust, pull, thrust.

  ‘Urgsh. God, Greg! Agh, agh agh.’

  Pull, thrust, pull, thrust, pull, thrust.

  I came.

  He came.

  He pulled all the way out.

  I FF-ed.

  * * * * *

  Later, I was all sated, snuggling Greg, pressing kisses to his chest, and about to drift off to sleep, when he ambushed me.

  ‘Ana?’

  ‘Hmmm?’

  A pause. ‘I need to know if you’ll ever let me turn you.’

  And bam! I was wide awake.

  ‘Uh…um.’

  ‘You say you’ll think about it, but I’m not convinced you will. You never bring it up yourself, so I don’t know what’s going on in your head. You don’t seem to want to talk about it much. And I feel like I’m hounding you when I raise the subject. Then you always change the subject.’ He sighed. Gustily.

  ‘I’m sorry, Greg. I have been avoiding it. You know me—always ignoring the difficult stuff.’

  I got enigmatic face. I knew what it said, however. ‘Yes, Ana. You do always ignore the difficult stuff.’

  ‘I have been thinking about it, though.’ I’d been thinking about it a damn lot, recently. ‘I’m a bit worried about some things—’

  ‘What are you worried about?’ he countered immediately.

  It was my turn to sigh. ‘What happens if you do turn me, then one day, we end up like Signore and Signora Freakshow from the alley?’

  ‘We won’t.’ This was delivered with large conviction.

  ‘How can you know that for a fact?’

  No answer except for a deeply furrowed brow.

  I plowed ahead. ‘It’s just that I’ve met a sum total of five vampires. Of those, two were psycho-killer freaks from hell. Another went rogue and may or may not be a killer.’ I didn’t mention Melanie’s name, although Greg would know who I was talking about. ‘Most likely, she’s running about somewhere, murdering people left and right. So that’s three out of five…sixty percent who are evil nutbags. And you know one more vamp than I do. It sounds like Desislava’s the queen of evil nutbags, so that makes the percentage,’ I grabbed my phone and used the calculator to work out four divided by six, multiplied by one hundred, ‘sixty-six-point-six recurring. How apt; the devil’s number.’

  ‘There are benefits too, Kayana.’

  Uh-oh, he was using my full name. ‘Yes, I know—’

  ‘Like not fucking dying at the drop of a hat!’ He spoke over me, loudly—basically yelling.

  Greg never spoke to me that way. My recent brush with death had really, really, really gotten to him.

  I paused, taken aback by the depth of anger in his voice. I paused too long.

  ‘Forget it. Just go to sleep.’ The tone in his voice hurt me.

  We didn’t do this: get pissy and stop communicating. We’d made a big mistake once, that time when he’d been with the blonde in the alley, checking her slot for spare change. Or whatever. After that, we’d decided not talking—and not only that, but not speaking plainly, openly and honestly—was a bad idea. During the alley debacle, I’d yelled at him and accused him of things. Since that day, we talked calmly about stuff. We didn’t yell. We didn’t give each other the cold shoulder.

  ‘Greg?’ My voice sounded plaintive.

  He turned his back to me. Punched his pillow. Then lay there still, stiff as a board, tension in every muscle.

  He gave me the cold shoulder, literally and figuratively.

  I wanted to touch that shoulder. I wanted to make him turn around and talk to me. Needed to look into his eyes.

  I was aware he didn’t want me to do any of those things.

  My palm hovered an inch from his skin. I fisted my hand and tucked it under my chin.

  I had the overwhelming urge to cry.

  I did. Silently.

  I fell asleep hours later, my face pressed into a soaking-wet pillow, and dreamed restless dreams.

  * * * * *

  Early the next morning, I was in the lab. I’d woken to find Greg had already left for the day. He hadn’t roused me with good-morning hugs and kisses. He hadn’t left a note or sent a text. It was so unlike his usual behaviour that it was jarring.

  I’d shed more tears in the shower, dosed myself with a truckload of caffeine (no food because I couldn’t stomach it in my current mood), dried my eyes and trudged off to work.

  After a quick riffle through the paperwork on my desk to make sure there was nothing urgent, I made a plan for the day. I decided to start an assay, testing patient samples for a particular antibody I was working on. Once I had that going, I’d make the reagents that were required for the rest of the test, then begin tackling the paperwork.

  I got out my microtiter plates and samples and began pipetting tiny amounts of stuff into the wells. Science—my kind of science—involves a great deal of squirting minuscule amounts of things into small wells in a plastic plate. Adding tinier amounts of other things. Incubating. Washing the wells by squirting reagents into them and tipping the liquid back out of the plate repeatedly. Adding microlitres of some other stuff. Incubating. Rinsing. Repeating. And so on.

  Thrilling.

  This particular assay took six hours from beginning to end. At least I had a truckload of paperwork to keep me busy during the half-hour to one-hour incubation periods. Usually, I’d set up two different experiments and time them perfectly, so while something was incubating, I’d be doing the squirt/wash for the other test. But that kind of thing needed high-level planning, precision, and other skills I was incapable of this morning. Concentration—that was one of the things missing from my skill set today.

  Most people are under the impression that being a scientist is far more exciting than it actually is. ‘Oooh, you’re a scientist!’ they say with great enthusiasm. ‘What kind of science? What are you working on?’ There are always wide expectant eyes accompanying these questions.

  Being a research scientist, the beginning of each project is the most exciting part. The little wedge of time between the completion of reading hundreds and hundreds of journal articles to see what has come prior, and the start of the testing. It’s a bright spot where you make the hypothesis. I think this is what’s happening. Followed by that time where you plan your experiments. How will I disprove my hypothesis? Because that’s what scientists do. They don’t try to prove what they suppose is going on. They set about trying to disprove it. Hard.

  And here’s the thing: if you come at it from all angles and can’t disprove something, you usually end up proving it.

  I placed my plates in the incubator set at thirty-seven-degrees Celsius and began assembling bottles and jars of chemicals, beakers, flasks and pipettes on my work surface.

  I placed a large beaker onto the magnetic stirrer. The distilled water went into the beaker. I began weighing out the chemicals to make phosphate-buffered saline.

  I had a sudden flashback to when Melanie had worked in the lab.

  ‘You’ll miss me if I go,’ she’d said, talking about a job offer she’d received from a university lab in Ardmore, Oklahoma.

  ‘Yeah, I would. You’re the light
in my life.’ I’d said this in a monotone, unblinking. The life in my party.’

  ‘Keep goin’,’ she’d urged.

  ‘The cherry in my sundae.’

  ‘And I know how much you love sundaes.’ Her grin had been broad.

  Still going for the dry and totally unaffected deal, I’d said, ‘The gin in my tonic.’

  ‘Ha! More like the cock in your Cocksucking Cowboy!’ she’d yelled.

  We actually drank those all the time. I couldn’t help myself; I’d blurted out a laugh.

  ‘Oh, shite!’ This had been yelled also.

  ‘What now?’ I’d enquired.

  She’d pointed to three identical glass bottles on the shelf, each filled with clear liquid. ‘I can’t remember which one’s which.’

  ‘The pain in my ass,’ I’d added to the list of things she was to me.

  ‘I can’t help it! I remembered on Friday, but I’ve forgotten over the weekend.’ She’d pointed at the bottle on the right. ‘Was this one the hydrochloric acid?’

  ‘How the frack should I know?’

  This wasn’t the first time we’d had this type of conversation. Trying to explain to Melanie the importance of labelling everything immediately, the importance of adhering to standards and following quality procedures, was as effective as speaking to a brick wall. One with bricks made from ten percent clay, ten percent sand, ten percent concrete, ten percent of whatever else goes in bricks, plus sixty percent of stubborn.

  Melanie had sworn like a trooper, then marched over to the sink and emptied the bottles.

  ‘By the way, when we have our next quality audit, Mel, I’m banning you from the lab. That day…and a week on either side.’

  ‘So, you’ve finally figured out my cunning plan,’ she’d answered. But it was with a flat, dejected voice as she’d begun measuring out ingredients to make up her buffering solutions all over again.’

  Following rules was not one of Mel’s core competencies. As highlighted spectacularly when she’d broken the unspoken don’t-escape-possibly-kill-Scott-and-go-rogue rule.

  At first, I believed I’d lose her to brain drain. Like hundreds of other scientists, she’d become so specialised, the only jobs in her field were overseas. I’d lost her, in a sense, when she’d gone back home after getting sick. Then I’d almost lost her forever to cancer. In the end, I’d lost her to vampirism. Sometimes life completely sucked.

  Tears sprang up. Christ, I miss her.

  My mobile rang.

  I raced over to my bag and snatched it out, convinced that if Greg and I could just talk, we would sort out the—

  It wasn’t Greg’s name on the caller I.D.; it was Alexi’s Gym.

  I answered politely, masking my disappointment.

  ‘Hello, Ana,’ came Alexi’s deeply accented voice. The accent is strong with that one. The strong is also strong with that one. I’m convinced his gym has become so popular because all the boys want to look like him. Some of the girls, too, I suppose. The rest of the girls want to look at him. And nobody ever wants to mess with him.

  ‘Hi, Alexi. How are you?’

  ‘I am good, Ana. And you?’ His voice was so deep, it kind of rumbled through the phone. I’d need a subwoofer attachment to make his voice clearer.

  ‘I’m great. Had a fab holiday.’

  ‘I am looking forward to hearing all about it. Will you come for workout tonight?’

  ‘No, not tonight. It’s my first day back at work and I’m up to my eyeballs. I’ll be working late. I doubt I’ll get out of here before nine.’

  ‘I hope you will not walk to carpark at that time by yourself. Greg will be there to make sure you are safe, yes?’ Alexi knew the place I parked. Even though it was the closest carpark to the blood bank, it was still a bit of a walk. It was an open lot at the end of a quiet street and didn’t have much in the way of lighting. Heaps of blood bank staff parked there. If I left work while it was still light, it wasn’t an issue. After dark, issues could happen.

  As for the question of Greg being there—no he wasn’t, and I had no idea what he was doing. He hadn’t contacted me all day.

  ‘Actually, if I’m working late, I can park in the carpark here after five-thirty.’ There was a small parking space in the basement of the building that, during the day, was used by the blood bank head honchos. Most of them left at five or soon after. As did anyone with a desk job, all the blood collection staff, as well as the scientists and lab assistants in the routine testing labs. The only people you’d find knocking around the inside of the building at all hours of the night were the research scientists. I checked my watch. ‘Oh, it’s five-fifteen already. I’d better go collect my car soon.’

  ‘You must go while it is still light. Ana, your membership was on hold while you were away. It has reactivated. I will put back on hold and you can activate when you come back.’

  ‘Thank you, Alexi. I appreciate it.’

  ‘This is no problem, Ana.’

  ‘See you soon.’

  ‘Yes,’ he rumbled and hung up.

  I shook my head. Sometimes his lack of understanding of the nuances of conversational English, and little things like phone etiquette, made his responses seem inappropriate or weird or even made him come across as rude. Poor Alexi.

  By eight-thirty, I had moved my car, sent a text to Greg informing him I’d be working late, called him and left a message, and checked my phone numerous times to find he had not responded.

  I’d also finished my assay, recorded the results, and entered them into my database. Washed all the glassware and set it to dry. Gotten through every piece of paperwork on my desk, a quarter of which were minutes of meetings that seemed pointless and a waste of my damn time. Placed orders for chemicals and antibodies that were getting low. Eaten two muesli bars. Responded to emails. Planned the next day’s experiments. Cleaned down the worksurfaces with seventy percent alcohol. Checked my phone some more. Felt large feelings of disappointment and worry.

  Most importantly, I’d come to a decision. One that would affect my life and Greg’s in a decidedly serious way. Greg would be pleased with my choice, I knew that. If only he’d talk to me and give me the chance to tell him.

  I shouldered my handbag and headed downstairs with a couple of test tube racks full of centrifuge tubes containing plasma. That’s the other thing I’d done. Dispensed the contents of a bag of plasma, containing a rare antibody I was working on, into plastic tubes with hinged lids. Five millilitres per tube. As I said before, science—so thrilling.

  The lights were off in all the labs, the cleaning crew having done their thing and left. The stairwell was the only place still illuminated. It was apparent I was the only research scientist knocking around in the blood bank tonight. The labs, usually bustling with people and filled with the noise of those people, as well as the sounds of lab equipment, seemed desolate. If I were prone to that kind of thing, I might be afraid of a ghost lurking in a biohazard cabinet or popping out from behind a centrifuge or something. But I was aware that there were worse things out there to be afraid of. Bloodsucking things. Evil vampire-y things. I experienced phantom pains in my neck from where Freak One had torn into me.

  I pushed both freaks from my mind. No more retrospection about F One and F Two. I had amnesia where they were concerned.

  I exited the stairs on the ground floor, needing to drop off my samples in the freezer room before retrieving my car from the basement. Not having the slightest idea where the light switches were, and unable to see well enough to locate them, I made my way halfway down the corridor in the dark to the freezer room. I could have gotten my phone out and used the torch function, but my hands were full of test tube racks. Anyway, I thought to myself, I ain’t ’fraid of no ghost!

  It did help to know that the N.D.O.s (Night Duty Officers)—those elusive creatures I had yet to lay eyes on—were holed up in their room on this floor. Not that they’d hear me if I yelled myself blue in the face, being on the other side of the building beh
ind thick walls. They might be sleeping, studying, watching TV…eating chips. Whatever it was, they were there. Good enough.

  Outside the freezer room were padded jackets and gloves hanging on hooks, and a table to place things on while you donned the cold-weather gear and wrangled the heavy freezer door. I placed my samples and handbag on the table. I put on gloves because I might accidentally touch something and freeze my hand to it (minus-thirty degrees Celsius will do that to you). I bypassed the jacket because I planned to be in there for thirty seconds, max. Not long enough to catch a chill. I took a deep breath and steeled myself for the temperature difference, opened the door, grabbed my samples and stepped inside.

  Cold. Cold. Cold!

  The second my body experienced the temperature difference, it sucked in a big breath that hurt my nose and didn’t do my lungs any favours.

  Placing my samples down quickly, I shut the door, keeping the cold air in. All the researchers in the building have important/precious/rare/invaluable/I’ve-been-working-on-this-for-five-years-wreck-my-samples-and-I’ll-kill-you stuff stored in there. No one dares to leave the door open.

  I went to the back of the room where my designated shelf is located and deposited my samples.

  The freezer door opened.

  I was going to finally meet the mysterious N.D.O.s—speak of the devils. I turned around with what was probably an expectant expression that quickly turned to one of confusion. The kind of confusion where you see something completely out of context. Like finding a pair of roller skates in your microwave. Or an azalea bush under your bedcovers.

  Or in this case, an Alexi in your freezer room.

  ‘Alexi?! What on earth are you doing here?’

  He filled the doorway, looking rigid (more rigid than his usual hard-muscled stance). His brows were drawn. He seemed pained in some way. Tension rolled off him. He wasn’t saying anything.

  This out-of-context Alexi with his silence and strange manner sent a single alarming message to my brain.

  ‘Oh my God. Is Greg okay?’ Alexi had come to deliver terrible news. I knew it. I felt my knees going weak. I tried to lock them down and brace myself.