The Drinker of Blood

Chapter Twelve

I ended up inviting Freya to my room at the William Claymore. It was a gorgeous and comfortable space, which was only a short cab ride from the hospital where Freya spent most of her day. And I decided security wasn't an issue. I checked in regularly with the house detective, and I didn't spend all that much time in the place. There was little chance any of my enemy's agents had seen me coming or going. In the end, meeting Freya at my room wasn't any more dangerous than meeting her anywhere else in a city of 4 million people.

Besides, I was fairly confident that I'd murdered most of the private detectives in the city. There was nothing in the news media regarding a number of bodies found in a West Side warehouse. That either meant that the corpses had not yet been discovered, or my enemies had made it a point to clean up my crime scene in order to avoid any flack that might come their way from the revelation.

Either was possible, but the question didn't seem pressing. I had a date.

The subtext of Freya's most recent post was that she was taking the morning off and expected to have me to herself for the duration. I refused to disappoint the woman. It wasn't too long after sunrise that my phone pinged, and I went to answer the door.

She was much earlier even than I'd expected, and when I reached the door, I found a breathless and obviously agitated Freya-Lynn waiting. She moved as if to speak, but instead stepped across the threshold and threw herself at me.

Not a word was spoken as the two of us drunkenly capered and staggered, ensnared in one another's arms and legs, nearly falling a half dozen times, toward the bed by the balcony. For all the frenzy, somehow clothing flew around the room, like shopping bags caught up in a windstorm. We soon were breathlessly entrenched in one another's flesh, and we did not rise or speak for nearly two hours.

My first act when next we caught our wind was to give her a loving kiss and to update the official log.

"You really don't have to do that," she whispered with a sweet laugh.

"Darling, you have no idea what I had to do to keep hold of this blessed relic. I had to battle a small army of bandits and kidnappers."

"No vampires?"

"Just a few lackeys."

"Did you win?" She kissed one of my favorite spots, and I think I may have gone blind for a moment.

"Ohhh ... it was touch and go for a while."

She sat up and with her gentle hand began caressing the full length of my back and backside. "Can I be honest?"

I just finished my notes, but didn't turn to face her. The touch of her hand was too much. "Of course, always."

"I came up here to break things off with you."

Somehow, I believed her. But her words didn't trouble me. "What happened?"

"I've been shaking all morning. I've felt guilty since I got back from Florida, but not guilty because of the sex, guilty because I didn't feel guilty about the sex." A sound emanated from her that might have been a whimper. "And the sex is all I've been able to think about."

I dared to venture, "I don't see the problem."

"It's just not fair ... I, whew ... I think you cast a spell on me. I've never felt this way before."

I could hear the tears in her voice, and I turned to take her in my arms. "We can quit this if you want."

"Oh, I can't," she whispered. "I thought I found the courage last night, but coming up in the elevator this morning ... I just ... I just couldn't stop shaking. Doing this was all I could think about. Ugh. I think I had a little orgasm on the third floor."