Cold Hearted Vampire

By R E Mullins

Dr. Michaela Blautsauger, a Nosferatu vampire, is considered an expert in her field of work. However, her skills when it comes to dealing with others and showing emotion is almost non-existent. When Detective Seth Whitehead barges into her lab, she discovers the human is just as interesting as the blood formula she is working on. Seth's tenacity to find who is committing crimes in Amber Heights pits him against vampire aristocracy as well as Toltec vamps who are nasty to say the least. When the she-vamp he is falling heart over fangs for leaves the country to find the blood plant she needs, he follows and discovers his cold hearted vamp truly has a heart. When they both fall into Toltec hands, Seth knows he will do anything he has to do to keep Michaela from suffering harm. But will he be able to keep his own life in the process?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Sep 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781509216307

R E Mullins

R E Mullins has lived in the beautiful southwestern part of Missouri for most of her life. She was employed as a Phlebotomist and assisted in the Phlebotomy Adult Continuing Education Class at Ozark Technical College. You can contact her at [e-mail]

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Chapter One

Almost two years ago, Christmas morning

Amber Heights, Missouri

What the hell do you mean she’s gone? Detective Seth Whitehead thundered into his cell phone as one of the blood vessels in his forehead throbbed. Since sunup he’d been trudging up and down both sides of the Amber, searching the frozen riverbanks for clues. Bone cold, footsore, and hungry, he rotated the tired muscles in his neck and shoulders. The last thing he’d wanted to hear was how his witness—his only potential witness—regained consciousness and had gone missing from her hospital bed.

I had to go. Like, I mean, really bad, Tom McNamara, the officer assigned to watch over the injured woman, tripped over his words as he scrambled to cover his ass. The nurse had gone in there—so I ran to the john. I couldn’t have been gone more than a couple of minutes. I swear. But when I get back they’re squawking over how she’s nowhere to be found.

Abducted? The acid in Seth’s stomach churned sourly.

I don’t think so, Tom spoke slowly, letting Seth know he was visualizing the scene. No sign of struggle. Oh, and get this. The intern claims his jacket was lifted along with a few bucks from his desk.

All circumstantial evidence, he thought, and certainly didn’t rule out kidnapping. However, on the surface it did sound as if she might have simply walked out. But why?

There’s something else, the officer rushed on. The staff intern told me the patient lost her memory—can’t remember her own name. Know what that means? She couldn’t identify our perp anyway. His voice rose on a slightly hopeful note.

Did the fool think this new info might absolve him? Seth’s eyes narrowed. Memories can return. Anger lit the fuse of his already short temper as he raked his officer over the coals. Having amnesia only makes it worse that you lost her. Get your head out of your ass, Mac. Think about her well-being. How she must be feeling. Not knowing who she is—no one to turn to—out there all alone. She’s hurt and disoriented. With the temps dropping, if she doesn’t find shelter, she’ll freeze to death.

There was small satisfaction in disconnecting while McNamara still sputtered. Seth knew the guy was lazy, but geez-Louise, he’d thought him capable of keeping track of one wounded woman.

Striding to the idling, unmarked squad car waiting for him, Seth called the station and ordered a search for the Jane Doe. Then, not about to let any of the precious heat escape, he quickly jerked the passenger side door open, climbed in, and slammed it shut.

Head to the hospital, he ordered the rookie manning the wheel as he snapped his seatbelt in place.

Dwaine nodded, and without a word he headed in the direction of the medical center.

Seth took the time to update the young officer. Pausing to draw a breath when he heard his voice becoming more and more clipped. I think you better get Mac’s full statement. I might blow a gasket if I try to do it.

Surprised pleasure fleetingly crossed the kid’s features, but he kept his cool and simply nodded again. Seth liked that about him.

He would use the time to track down other potential sources. While you do that, I think I’ll have a word with that other doctor, uh, what’s-her-name. He rapped an antsy beat on the vinyl armrest with his fingertips. The pressure was getting to him, filling him with a sense of urgency. Worry that Jane Doe didn’t have much time left was clouding his mind. Causing him to have an unusual amount of trouble coming up with the physician’s name. Doctor… he tried again. You know? The one the intern called in to consult. Some specialist in blood studies or something like that.

Dr. Michaela? Dewaine forgot himself long enough to yelp before modulating his tone. Blautsauger.

Yeah, that’s the name.

Oh, hell. Dewaine snickered. "Man, I’d rather watch that than deal with McNamara."

Seth was surprised enough he turned to look at him. Yeah? Why’s that?

My sister-in-law’s a nurse up on four-west. Dewaine continued to grin widely, and Seth thought he could actually see the suppressed hilarity oozing out of his pores. She says the doc is one humongous frigid clam.

A what? Seth settled back in his seat. Not sure where this was headed, he waited to find out. It didn’t take long.

Frigid clam, the rookie repeated as he flipped on the turn signal and slowly depressed the brakes in preparation for the turn into the hospital parking lot. "That’s when a woman is so cold, he snorted, if she spreads her legs—everyone in the four-state area gets frostbite."

With that the younger man burst into peals of laughter. The sound was so contagious it had Seth chuckling along with him. Not that he cared if the woman was a ballbuster, not as long as she gave him some helpful information. On the other hand, he flexed his fingers and toes in an attempt to work some feeling back into the frozen joints. It might be better if the doc kept her legs together during their interview.

As Dewaine parked, Seth saw the local television crew setting up and knew they were there to film a public service announcement. He’d asked the news station to request community help in locating his missing woman. Pleased by such a quick response on a cold Christmas evening, he decided to wander over and say, Thanks.

Lead reporter, Shelly Bonds, was rapidly talking on her phone as he approached. Politely, he stood aside waiting for her to finish her call, and took the time to shake hands with the cameraman and lighting guy. As a hint of anger fused her tone, he raised his eyes at the men.

She’s trying to get Dr. Blautsauger to come out and say something about the missing gal, the cameraman answered Seth’s unspoken question. Guess she isn’t cooperating, the man added.

Shelly abruptly disconnected. Then huffing angrily, she walked over to the men.

Wanting to entice her to spill what she knew, Seth asked, You okay?

That—that bitch, Ms. Bonds immediately swallowed the bait and began speaking through gritted teeth. I wanted to use the clout of the Blautsauger name. It would generate more interest in the Jane Doe case, but Dr. Blautsauger refuses to leave her experiments. Said she doesn’t have the time to help us. Not even for five fucking minutes.

Despite hearing what Dewaine’s sister-in-law said about her, Seth’s mind balked over such a display of callousness. Jaw set, he thanked Ms. Bonds for her efforts. Then, with a firm tread, he set out to find this person. This high-and-mighty doc who couldn’t be bothered to help. Yeah, he wanted to see exactly what a frigid clam looked like.

Ten minutes later, after some heavy-handed knocking on his part, Dr. Michaela Blautsauger deigned to open the door to her lab. She scowled at him and still all he could think was, she’s hot. His spiking temper, however, allowed him to overlook that initial punch of desire. Then their eyes met, and he fully understood Dewaine’s analogy.

The ice was there in the coolly disinterested way she looked him over. Without saying a word, she let him know he was nothing more than a bug beneath her notice.

Yes? Her abrupt tone bordered on rude.

Whitehead, Seth. Detective, AHPD. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled out his badge and politely held the gold shield where it could be easily read.

Her gaze lowered as she briefly scanned the emblem. Then lifting her eyes back to meet his own, she ever so slightly raised a brow. The silent so what coming through loud and clear.

Already on edge from a thoroughly frustrating and exhaustive day, Seth felt his blood pressure spike. Whereas he might allow someone to dismiss him—personally that is—there was no way he’d stand by and let some doc with a god complex disrespect the office.

Clenching his teeth, Seth struggled to remain calm. The Jane Doe brought in early this morning is missing from your facility. I’d like your assessment of her condition and help locating her.

She wasn’t my patient.

He waited for more. Dumbfounded as it became obvious she didn’t plan on adding anything to the terse reply. That was it? Not one word of concern. Not a flicker of compassion in her stony expression.

Jesus, lady, is that all you have to say? Where’s your basic humanity? Simply to antagonize, Seth leaned into her personal space and took unholy satisfaction in the way she backed up a step. Weren’t you called in to consult? Doesn’t that place her directly under the aegis as your patient?

No. Michaela’s manner remained cold and curt. Now if that’s all? I’ve work to do.

Like looking through a microscope is more urgent than saving a life. He didn’t bother to hide his sneer. In fact, he wanted her to see his disgust.

My studies have the potential to save millions of lives. There was something in the clipped response that made it sound as if she’d been goaded to respond. So the doc wasn’t in the habit of explaining or making excuses for her behavior. Good, he was glad he’d managed to jerk her chain a bit.

Whatever you’re doing, he pressed, I’m sure it could be put off a couple of minutes. Long enough for you to join Ms. Bond asking for help to find the woman.

I disagree.

You’re a right piece of work. He glowered down at her. Know what I think?

No. Nor do I want to, she said and somehow managed to straighten already poker-straight shoulders. It impressed him as he hadn’t thought it possible for that already ramrod posture to get even more rigid.

I think you couldn’t care less about that poor lady. In your world, she’s nothing more than another guinea pig, and you’ve already got a hospital full of them. Don’t you?

Your accusation is as erroneous as it is misplaced, she said stiffly, but Seth thought he heard a tiny thread of emotion leaking through. The E.R. ran a dye-tracer Hypovolemia test—

Try some plain English. Seth’s interruption was met with a superior smirk that left him with the sudden urge to wipe it off her face. Startled by the violent turn of his thoughts, he took a step back. He might yell but he rarely lost control and would never overstep his authority with the use of unnecessary force.

Their eyes met. He found the doc’s held a hard glitter that gave him the distinct impression she was visualizing using some sort of violence herself. However, when she answered, she did so in what he suspected was her normally cool and dismissive fashion.

It’s a test measuring blood volume. Bracing a palm on the edge of the door, she inadvertently signaled her plan to shut it in his face. And for your information, the patient was low. Critically low. My expertise wasn’t needed for that.

Sure enough the door began to swing in his direction. He put a stop to it by shoving his foot in the way, and couldn’t help smiling a little when she frowned down at his shoe. I heard there was a rare anomaly found in her blood.

You heard incorrectly.

Any other time he’d have accepted her assertion at face value, bowing to her expertise. But she blinked as she spoke. To test her, he rephrased the question. You’re stating that Jane Doe’s blood wasn’t unusual. Not in any aspect?

Think, Detective, and use your own logic. If this woman was important to me—her lips thinned in a parody of a smile—"as a guinea pig wouldn’t I be the first one out there looking for her?"

Again, he would have taken the words at face value, but he was watching extra carefully and caught the slight flexing of her right hand. Those concert pianist length fingers curled into a ball, and her arm twitched. Her fist fractionally lifted from where it had been resting against her side.

Pretty sure she was about to hit him, his instincts roared into life. Animalistic reflex—his brain certainly wasn’t involved—had him acting in a way that was both uncharacteristic and spectacularly ill-advised.

He grabbed her fisted hand, held it securely as their gazes locked in silent battle. Suddenly, those honeycomb eyes of hers widened and seemed to flare with a flash of unexpected heat. His mind stuttered at the lusty gleam. His brain emptied as his blood flow instantly rerouted to his groin.

The next thing he knew, she was in his arms, their bodies pressed tightly together. He didn’t remember moving. Hadn’t seen her move either but they were wrapped around each other. Who initiated the kiss ceased to matter as their mouths pressed together. The feel of their lips moving hungrily against each other was overwhelming.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there devouring each other. Licking, nibbling, and sucking at each other’s mouth. It took time for him to become aware of his internal alarm. Starting as a low buzz, it turned into an insistent squawk until it finally pulled him back to reason.

He could no longer ignore the fact he’d stepped over the line.

Riding hard on the heels of that thought came the knowledge he was committing professional suicide. Breathing hard, he dropped his arms. His right hand had been buried in her hair at the back of her head and the left had held her torso firmly against him. Taking a step back, he added another for good measure.

Michaela leaned against the doorjamb, her own breathing unsteady. Her fingers rose to press against swollen lips. Lips that trembled slightly.

Yet when she spoke, her tone was more bemused than upset. What was that for?

I don’t know. His shoulders shifted. He didn’t want to admit he felt just as confused as she sounded. It seemed a better idea than punching you or allowing you to punch me.

The lines in her forehead deepened as she appeared to carefully weigh his words. You were wrong. With that stark announcement, she shut the door, and this time he was relieved to see it close.

For a long moment, Seth stood facing the heavy steel barrier. Frozen to the spot while he silently berated himself. Though he made a concentrated effort, he couldn’t come up with a single way to rationalize his inexcusable behavior. For someone who prided himself on his control, he hated to admit to such a lapse in sanity.

Turning, he trudged back up the stairs, wondering if she’d be vindictive enough to demand his badge. Worst of all? He knew he would deserve it if she did.

He found Dewaine waiting for him in the hospital’s front entry. Need a paramedic? the rookie quipped irrepressibly.

Busy stewing, still wondering how he’d managed to shoot himself in the foot, Seth didn’t immediately catch Dewaine’s meaning. Looking over at him, he blinked. Huh?

For frostbite?

Yeah. Seth ran a hand over his head, absently mussing his hair. I don’t think that’s the good doctor’s only problem. He blew out a long breath as he followed Dewaine out into the cold, and the stream of air instantly turned into foggy steam. What he didn’t mention was the woman had plenty of heat in her. His reeling mind and throbbing body could attest to that fact.

Under that cold demeanor, he concluded, there were other facets to the lady doctor. There were currents riding below the surface. Sure, he’d seen contempt, calculation, and defensive posturing. He’d also experienced passion and saw…guilt? Yeah, that was it.

He’d also seen regret even as she tried to reason away all accountability for Jane Doe. Then again, right before she’d shut the door, he’d caught the same telltale look in her eyes. If there was one thing he recognized, it was remorse.

After adding things up, Seth's only conclusion was the doc was hiding something. Now he needed to find out what.

****

After locking the door, Michaela's legs felt wobbly, as she staggered back to her workstation and sank into the task chair she’d vacated earlier. Her mind was spinning, which made it impossible to collect her thoughts or get control over her churning emotions. She tried to regulate her breathing but instead of steadying her equilibrium, she grew even more light-headed.

What would he have done if she’d pulled him inside the lab and ripped his clothes off? If she’d driven him to the top of the sexual pinnacle? And when he’d been hanging, right on the verge of coming, she’d have bitten him. Greedily tasting his blood as it was spiced with boiling passion.

Stop it, Michaela murmured under her breath when she found herself imagining what the hard-bodied detective looked like without his conservative suit. Suddenly, the oddity of the situation struck her, and she began to chuckle out loud. The somewhat rusty sound startling her back into the here and now. What on earth was wrong with her? She had no business fantasizing about having sex with the human.

What was more important was figuring out why she’d let the all too sharp-eyed detective leave unmesmerized. She doubted the council would accept the excuse that his kiss had scrambled her brain. She’d simply have to make sure no ever learned about it.

By not taking care of his memory while she had the chance, she’d potentially put Amber Height’s entire vampire community into jeopardy. Even though their conversation had been brief, it had only cemented the detective’s reputation. The man was smart, tenacious, and willing to think and act outside the box. So she’d have to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t discover the truth about her or the missing Jane Doe.

And that bothered her. She hated leaving the cop in the dark. The guilt had her pinching the top of her nose. But what could she have said? Hey, your Jane Doe is really a woman named Cailey Kantor. She’s fine, just not human any longer.

Michaela rolled her shoulders, and her hands idly caressed the cool metal of her microscope. Work. That was the best cure. To immerse herself in the unemotional and immutable answers that only science provided. Lowering her gaze to the lens, Michaela studied the slide.

Chapter Two

Present day, Amber Heights, Missouri

Son of a bitch. In the cold case room, the file dropped out of Seth’s hands as he grabbed the edge of the countertop. Skin blooming with cold sweat, his vision blurred as he fought to remain upright. Losing the battle to stop the world around him from graying, he went down hard. His knees smacked worn vinyl tiles before he slumped down against a bank of battered, green filing cabinets.

It was about two years now since he—was that right? Hard to remember how long he’d been tormented by these random migraines. Without warning, agonizing spikes would suddenly shoot through his skull with all the speed and debilitating precision of a jackhammer. All he could do was push both palms against his temples with the vague hope the counter pressure might keep his freaking head from exploding.

By God, he’d had enough of this suffering. Never knowing when a migraine might strike, he’d become a walking liability. Shuddering to think what might it cost him, his men—or more importantly—the public if one occurred during a mission. It scared the bejeesus out of Seth to think he might become incapacitated or make an error in judgment all because he could no longer think straight.

Not a brain tumor. At least that much had been ruled out during the last battery of tests. Unfortunately, the docs hadn’t been able to pinpoint any triggers, and he desperately wanted a diagnosis. Something to give him a place to start.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat on the cold tile before his eyesight cleared. His gaze settled on the spilled folder lying on the floor beside him. Jane Doe. The sight of the name, hand printed on the cover in thick, black marker caused his stomach to churn uneasily. The sensation had him shutting his eyes again as he fought the compulsion to grab the file and pitch it as far away as he could.

Innate reasoning told him he was missing something vital. He had to concentrate. It wasn’t much but finally a tiny, fragmented memory metamorphosized. There’d been something off about the Jane Doe case.

Despite his throbbing head he almost laughed. That was it? The big news flash? He had to do better than that. Dammit. Or he was going to see his career fade away like a snuffed candle. Fingers numb, he picked up the file and forced himself to look at the cover. Departmental policy required all viewing officers to notate the date, time, and their initials on the outside of the manila folder every time it was opened. With his head pounding he squinted at the scrawled list.

S.W. Every single set of initials belonged to him. How could he be the only cop to have looked at this missing person file? There was something odd about that, in and of itself, but even more worrisome was why couldn’t he remember? Reaching into the interior pocket of his suit jacket, long habit guided Seth's fingers to the small notepad and pen. The color and brand might have varied over the years, but since his first day on the force, such tools had been his faithful and constant companions.

The simple act of holding his pad brought a few things back to him. Like how he’d begun chronicling each debilitating episode right along with normal work stuff. At first, he’d hoped to find a pattern to the migraines. Later, when he became forgetful, it had been a way of keeping himself on track. Flipping through the pages to the last entry, he intended to write down this new episode. Pausing as he saw a set of seemingly random numbers in the last entry.

010738. Should that mean something to him?

It took some work but he managed to extract the answer out of his pain filled brain. The numeral code stood for the location of his bank safety deposit box. Inside the vault his strongbox was in the first section, seventh row, box thirty-eight.

He peered at the entry next to the numbers, Refresh browser. A computer command? Odd thing for him to write as he was pretty illiterate when it came to the temperamental machines. He’d blue-screened so often the AHPD tech squad wasn’t able to let a day go by without mentioning his ineptitude.

Yet even he knew enough to know refreshing a browser meant updating the information on a web page.

Was that a roundabout way of telling himself that he’d hidden answers at the bank? Seth pulled his body up, replaced the file in its proper spot, and headed upstairs for his coat. The only way he’d know for sure was to head over to the Amber Heights Savings and Loans.

****

I hate my life. I hate my life. Michaela’s muttered phrase was in time with the resounding click of her heels as she stomped down the clinic corridors. All staff within earshot took the sound as a clear warning that Dr. Blautsauger was in a temper and scrambled out of her path.

Juggling her bag and the coat she carried into her right hand, she shot up the left cuff of her white lab coat to glare at the ever-present watch strapped to her wrist. Per usual she was cutting it close. If she didn’t get a move on she’d be late for the night’s all-important vampire meeting.

Not that she knew why she was bothering to go. Hadn’t her family made it painfully obvious they didn’t need her? Her ears still rang. Some of them, namely her older brother’s fiancée, Cailey, along with her own younger brother, Rafe, had gone so far as to let her know they’d rather not associate with her at all until she changed her ways.

All because of Morgan Maguire.

The very name of Michaela’s nemesis increased the staccato beat of her thin heels. Snap. Snap. Snap. Her tread echoed like an old-fashioned cap gun being fired in quick succession. For a she-vamp such as herself, who prized logical and structured analytic thinking above all else, it had become impossible for her to consider Morgan objectively.

Just the thought of Morgan made her want to scream. Genius extraordinaire. Flawless beauty. And so fucking nice that a sip of her blood would rot a vampire’s fangs. In addition to all these unfair advantages, Michaela had recently learned what Morgan had kept hidden, and it was the most grating insult of all.

Morgan Maguire was a powerful witch hailing from a long line of formidable witches.

If that didn’t suck the big one, Michaela harrumphed in disgust, she didn’t know what would. And it so wasn’t fair. Why should Morgan be the one with all the advantages? Why hadn’t she, Michaela, been equally gifted?

Topping it off, Rafe had discovered Michaela’s own little secret, and had ratted her out. Good grief. Who’d have thought the family would turn pissy over such a tiny discretion? Really, it wasn’t that big of a deal. So she’d been mesmerizing Morgan in order to harness the woman’s massive brain. She’d needed her input and a fresh set of eyes. Why couldn’t they see that every effort to further her research was for the greater good?

Her family was acting unreasonable. Blowing things completely out of proportion. They were acting as if she’d committed a sin worse than treason. And truthfully? It had hurt her feelings. While it was accurate she frequently butted heads with one or another of them, she’d never been on the receiving end of such concentrated disapproval, reprimands, and scorn before.

She’d apologized, even shed a few tears—which had been humiliating. Until, scientist that she was, Michaela started dissecting their arguments and discovered the common denominator in their accusations. All boiled down, she concluded, they weren’t as upset with her actions as they were with the fact she’d mesmerized someone with ties to the family.

How hypocritical. To say the least. Besides she’d known and discounted the knowledge that Cailey and Morgan had been friends since childhood as unimportant. Easily got around. But how was she to have guessed that her brother had gone and fallen in love with her?

Even now she didn’t see what the big deal was. Maybe she’d blanked Morgan’s memory a few times, and it had given her a couple of headaches. So what? It wasn’t like she’d permanently injured the woman. As for their other accusation? Why was it so terrible she didn’t want to split the credit for her formula? She’d done the bulk of the work while Morgan had only made a contribution.

Finding a nutrient rich synthetic blood was her baby. It had been her life’s work and personal obsession since the early 1900s. Factoring in the lopsided contributions, it wasn’t rational to give Morgan the same amount of recognition. Apparently, however, her family didn’t agree. To Michaela it seemed they’d lost their collective heads. Turning both hostile and closed minded.

Bunch of hypocrites. Michaela sniffed again. She knew damn good and well, at one time or another, every last one of them had mesmerized a human for their own advantage. Well, maybe not her sister, Metta…or Cailey. Metta wouldn’t because she was too much of an airhead to think about such things. And as Gabe’s neophyte, Cailey remained under strict tutelage.

If they’d just simply open their eyes and see the big picture. Which she believed they would have if she’d chosen anyone but Morgan. But her research had stalled, and she’d needed the infusion of new ideas. It had worked too as the brainiac had brought her enough evidence to have her reconsidering a natural plant base. Fructans might actually be the solution she needed to supply a bonding agent to hold the nutrients together.

It was a source she’d looked at and discarded before Morgan helped her hone in on the Agave. The plant’s short-chained, fructose polymers of naturally occurring storage carbohydrates, she discovered, were capable of incorporating and transporting the needed nutrients, such as vitamins and minerals, throughout the body’s circulatory system.

To give the devil, or her, its due, Michaela frowned, she might not have ever reached those conclusions without Morgan’s insights. Especially after the witch discovered an extremely rare variety of Agave, aptly called the Ch’ich pak’—or blood plant in the ancient Mayan tongue—existed. Reputedly, it only grew in the jungles of the Yucatan Peninsula, but Michaela was determined to get her hands on one.

Which meant