Cajun Gothic (Blood Haven) by Nya Rawlyns Read Free Book Online Page A

duty finally returned with
extra-large sludge. It tasted like toxic waste but beggars couldn’t be
choosers. We did a mutual grimace and sipped the scalding brews.
    The party wound down slowly. The ambulance had
carted the body off and Chen was on her way to the office. She’d give this one
priority, if for no other reason than her curiosity was piqued. One incident
might be an anomaly, two was unfortunate, but four was pushing her limits of
credibility. We both hoped five was the last straw number.
    It was hard, damn hard, to focus on who, when the
how was giving all of us heebie-jeebies.
    Tom asked, “How much blood’s in a human body?”
    “Five, maybe six quarts, dunno exactly. Why?”
    He didn’t respond but it wasn’t hard to figure where
he was going with that.
     
    The first pull had been… odd.
Intoxicating in its essence, warm silky stickiness coating my throat and
esophagus. The second swelled my cock, hardening it like a rock until every
nerve balanced between the suckling at my mouth and the violent thrusting of my
hips, driving deep, deeper. When the shock wave hit it’d been the highest of
highs, waves of pleasure coiling me inside out. What followed was a cataclysm
of vomiting, retching up brownish red bile until I thought… I wanted to die.
    And then do it all again, and
again, and again.
     
    My tolerance increased gradually. A cup, maybe two.
But a quart, two, five? No way. Not for a human.
    Not for a… human.
    Turning to stare at the now empty bench, O’Hearn put
his hands on his hips, shoulders tense, adding it up. He had to be wondering if
more than one perp was involved, given the mechanics, and the evidence, facing
him.
    Ritual. Occult. Paranormal.
Group…
    These would be new terms to add to the white board.
    Tom steered me back toward our ride, muttering to
himself. He got in while I stood outside, debating next steps. My relief at the
dead hooker not being Sasha was palpable. So was the urge to hop the subway and
see for myself that she was safe and sound.
    Glaring at me through the windshield, Tom mouthed well ?
    I opened the door and said, “Listen, I have some
stuff I need to do. Call me later when the results come in from Chen, okay?”
    Clearly it wasn’t, but he had no reason to hold me
and a lot of good reasons to let me do my thing.
    “And Tom? Chen mentioned something about degree of
lividity around the puncture wounds. Ask her if there’s any instrument you
could use to siphon off that much blood.”
    That thought had already occurred to him, but he
nodded agreement. If there was such a device, it would go a long way in
explaining the unexplainable. As a bonus it would also derail O’Hearn’s current
line of reasoning, the one angling into really dangerous territory. I needed to
keep my friend safe and out of harm’s way, leaving me free to explore what I
suspected… and accepted.
    I shut the door and waved him off. He’d head back to
his office, work on the crime board and add details. The detective was
methodical and perceptive. The friend was lax and forgiving. Pretty soon he’d
come back around to me, and when he did I was pretty sure it’d be the detective
knocking on my door, not the friend.
    When that happened, hopefully I’d be in New Orleans,
getting answers we could both live with.
    The Lexington line was a long six block walk. Now
that Starbucks baristas were awake and doling out lattes to sleepy-eyed
workers, I grabbed a venti and made my way down the stairs into the bowels of
the subway. The trek to the financial district had begun early. I joined the
throngs and waited on the crowded platform, barely noticing incursions into my
personal space.
    With my lack of hygiene I was honestly surprised
anyone would be willing to get within ten yards of me. Before going back to
Brighton Beach, I was stopping off at my place and getting a shower.
    Heads rotated in unison as the train approached.
Women clutched purses to bosoms, men in suits with briefcases