Page 8 of Secrets in the Dark
“There is nothing like the taste of blood. Nothing.”
Licking his lips salaciously, Stephan Dante spoke the words before leaning forward to continue with, “You must understand. It came to me, a force, telling me that I was the king of the vampires. Blood. You feel the very sweetest flow of energy as you swallow, as you consume what was the life force of another. And as it fills you, the body comes alive with heat, with the promise of eternity. And there is a power that sweeps into every limb and across the mind and soul. There is nothing—nothing—like the exhilaration and power and...”
Perhaps the most disturbing and frightening aspect of the man speaking was the fact that he looked like the proverbial boy next door. He was tall, had a great smile and was leanly muscled—Della remembered thinking that he could be a linebacker when she had first met him as a friendly local bartender. He was a clean-shaven man, with wavy brown hair and a way of smiling that might be taken as boyishly charming, but that smile also hinted mischievously of something just a bit on the edge. It was fun and harmless—unless you wanted more.
And, of course, he was beyond doubt a sociopath. He’d had his agenda, his method of killing, and his “signature” as the forensic crews and profilers said. But he had no problem dispatching anyone who got in his way by any means possible.
Thankfully, he was incarcerated now, and handcuffs held him firmly to an iron bar set in the table. The interrogation room where Della Hamilton now faced him was engineered for discussions with the most dangerous prisoners. And no matter the boyish charm he possessed, from law enforcement to the guards, everyone knew he was extremely dangerous.
Della knew that even better than most. She and Mason were the two members of law enforcement who had managed at last to lure him into something of a trap, and thus he was now a prisoner. They’d had backup the whole way but catching him had been like trying to get a get a grip on an eel in an ocean of slime. He’d become obsessed with her—thinking that she’d join him!
If not, of course, he’d have been happy to drink her blood.
She was eternally wary of the man, and aware he was still trying to bait her.
So, she waited.
Della remained expressionless as his voiced trailed and he waited for her response.
She finally shrugged and said, “In other words, you get your rocks off killing people.” Her tone was flat and she made a point of looking away, bored with his dramatics. “Sad.”
He shook his head. “You don’t begin to understand,” he told her. “And I’m disappointed.You’resad! I believed in you. I thought you were a cut above the others. We could have been the most amazing team!”
“You know, I am a team player, but I just never saw myself on any team you might be leading,” she assured him. She leaned forward herself. “Okay, you know that you’re looking at the death penalty.”
He shook his head, smiling. “Trust me. I will live forever.”
“Great. You enjoy whatever eternal life you find after your lethal injections.”
“Europe doesn’t have the death penalty.”
“Well, I’m not a lawyer, but you’re in Louisiana right now. The state does have the death penalty. And even our federal government offers the death penalty in certain cases.”
“It will never happen,” he assured her.
“I need a name,” she said flatly.
“A name?” he queried, amused. “You probably need several names.”
“Well, then, give me several names.”
Dante lifted his hand in a vague motion. “Seriously? Even if I wanted to, I probably couldn’t give you any names. I meet people who long for something better. A name is just that—a label. And my friends like to consider every aspect of what they need in life. And I tell them how to get it. I don’t do background checks.”
“You made sure you could connect them with people who could create false identities and passports for them.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe my friends are nationalists!”
“So. Tell me about England.”
“Northern European country. Together with Wales and Scotland and Northern Ireland, it’s called Great Britain. Produced the Beatles and other great rock groups. What about it?”
“Who killed with you as avampirein England?”
He shrugged. “I don’t do names, I told you. But, hey, the guy in England was fairly good, but he’ll never be me. Maybe he’ll segue. Whatever. I don’t even remember. Thing is, with any of my followers, they’ll know that the king of the vampires is dead. They’ll...choose their own kingdoms!”
King of the Rippers?
“You do know what people look like, right?”
