Page 1 of Don't Bite the Botanist
Chapter one
Tressa
A glistening drop of ruby red blood slid down the side of the woman’s face, landed on her shoulder, and seeped into her white shirt.
Tressa suppressed the urge to lick it up.
It wasn’t easy given how hungry she was, but at nearly three hundred years old, her restraint was borderline impeccable. Even when she was in a dire situation and had to resort to a natural feeding, she was always in control of the blood lust.
Today would be no different.
She just needed to block out the sounds of the hospital waiting room that were starting to grate on her and finish the job. The sooner she dealt with this hysterical woman, the sooner she could put the wailing ambulance sirens and rhythmic beeping of life support machinery in her rearview mirror.
Pasting a subdued smile on her face—one she had carefully curated over the years to portray sympathy and understanding—she reached a hand out to squeeze the woman’s shoulder, careful to avoid the fresh blood stains blending into the rose pattern of the victim’s blouse.
“Look at me,” she told the late-twenties blonde who continued toweep softly. “What’s your name?”
The woman sniffled a few more times, then swiped a hand over her eyes to brush away the bulk of her tears along with half of her eyeliner, the rest of which already coated her cheeks in thin black lines. “Re-Rebecca,” she choked out. “But everyone calls me Becca.”
Tressa nodded like she was hearing it for the first time, even though she’d already learned everything about the victims from the police. “You’re going to be okay, Becca. You just need to breathe.”
She’d long since lost track of how many times those exact same words came out of her mouth, but they never lacked sincerity. The womanwouldbe okay. Or she would be once Tressa was done with her.
Fresh tears bubbled up in the woman’s eyes. “But…”
“No buts,” Tressa said firmly, drawing on her ability. “Just deep breaths. Can you do that for me?”
Becca dropped her face to her hands again and mumbled, “Yeah, I think so.”
Of course she could. When Tressa allowed her soothing Gift to imbue her voice, it made dealing with the emotional victims much easier. She watched the woman take a few deep breaths, noting the tears drying up in the process.
That’s it, Tressa thought.Let the calm flow through you. Release yourself to it. Surrender your grief and just breathe.
She didn’t love using her Gift to manipulate people, but it was a necessary evil sometimes. And she wasn’t messing with their brains too much. She just relaxed them a little. Like a walking, talking Xanax.
No, the manipulation would come in a few minutes when she had to use compulsion on the woman. That ability inherent to all vampires was the only way to convince Becca a roguehadn’tripped out her husband’s throat while their young daughter stood there and watched.
Tressa sighed. She didn’t mind her job as the cadre’s one-woman clean-up crew. She really didn’t. She was giving these people peace after a highly traumatic incident. And if by doing so she also managed to keep the existence of vampires a secret, that was just a bonus.
Still… some days the years weighed on her, making her wonder if her life would ever be anything more than what it was.
“Who are you?” Becca asked, rubbing her bloodshot eyes.
Tressa took a second to analyze the woman’s pulse and breathing. Becca’s level of anxiety had dropped from a traumatic, life-altering event to something more like a minor car crash, and that would have to be close enough. She preferred them a bit more soothed, but the day was rolling into evening, and she was tired.
Not even vampires were immune to burn out.
“I’m a counselor,” Tressa replied, offering up her tried and true lie. “And I just need a moment of your time.”
The woman dropped her hands, meeting Tressa’s gaze once more. “What do you want from me?”
Locking her eyes with Becca’s, Tressa whispered, “Believe.”
And here we go,she thought as the framing word took hold and the woman’s eyes turned glassy and distant from the compulsion.
“Your husband was murdered this evening in a mugging gone wrong,” Tressa said, maintaining the mental connection with Becca. “The mugger had a knife and stabbed him. It sprayed blood on your shirt. It was awful, but you don’t want to think about it too much. You just want to focus on comforting your daughter and grieving for your loss. In the end, you’ll both be okay.”
“We’ll be okay,” the woman echoed in a monotonous tone, as if she were on autopilot.
