A Drop of Red Read Online Free PDF Page B

silver eyes, opened his mouth, exposing fully sprung fangs.
    He reached up and pulled her down, his mouth to her neck.
    With a tight pop, he broke her skin, entering her jugular, sucking, drawing, drinking just enough. . . .
    All Dawn could do was grip him, gasping with pleasured pain as the blood ebbed from her body during this latest desperate attempt to fill each other back up again.

THREE
    THE MYSTERiOUS WOMAN
    AFTER feeding on Dawn, plus a bag of stored blood, a renewed Costin had healed Dawn’s neck, just like always. Then he’d checked to see if she was okay after their bang-up start to the night.
    But there was no time for dwelling on emotional stuff, so she’d assured him that it was time for business as usual and sent him off to his study where he could privately contact the woman who’d called, then arrange the quickest meeting possible.
    Dawn knew he’d be initiating a background check, too, using one of the many discreet contacts Jonah’s wealth could buy. As a reclusive heir, Jonah had access to a huge medical supply fortune—one of the many things that had swayed Costin to choose this particular human’s body as a host over any other.
    Of course, that had been way before Jonah had shown his true I-want-what-Costin-has colors, Dawn thought as she went to a minifridge in her walk-in closet and extracted a small bottle of supplement juice that had also been created by a team member. The vitamin-laden concoction gave her some verve, so she drank up, also snacking on a couple of “biscuits”—or cookies as they were called back in America. Then she bathed, taking care not to disturb her dressed thigh wound.
    All the while, she wondered just how strong Jonah was getting and if he would prove to be a problem from this point on. But who the hell knew, since Costin plus Jonah equaled a vampire unlike any the team had ever encountered or studied?
    After her bath, she made fast work of drying her dark brown hair and slinging it into a braid that trailed down her back to her shoulder blades. But she didn’t stay at the mirror long enough to slap on makeup over paled skin. At twenty-five, she didn’t have wrinkles to cover; besides, there was no amount of cosmetics that would make her Angelina Jolie anyway.
    Even more important, she wanted to be ready when this mystery woman showed up. So she pulled on some thin, silk thermal long johns, black pants, a long-sleeved turtleneck, and thick-soled dark boots that would lend proper traction if she needed it.
    As a final touch, she donned a silver crucifix necklace that boasted needled points at the ends. She secured it beneath the turtleneck, where she could feel the pendant’s sharpness, even through the thermal shirt.
    A reminder of what she needed to do.
    A penance.
    During her descent down the winding, claustrophobic stairwell, she passed stark walls lined with portraits of gorgeous, ethnically diverse women—most looking like boudoir honeys with their shoulder-baring robes and serene, satisfied expressions.
    These were the Friends: former team members who had agreed to stay on with Costin’s mission even after their deaths. They were in spirit form now, which allowed them to aid the present hunters with surveillance and defense.
    And it all still might be a real kooky concept to Dawn if one of her good pals wasn’t among their number.
    As she entered a first-floor hallway—in the States, they would’ve called it the second floor—she passed by a bedroom. There, she found Breisi resting in her own portrait, safe and sound amidst the painted background of the L.A. lab where she had done her best work before dying and going all spirity. Her dark, twenties-siren bob framed a strong yet somehow delicate Latina face, striking a homesick chord in Dawn as she stood in the doorway, unable to look away.
    But her reverie ended at the sound of a bearish voice from the other side of the small room.
    “Just can’t get used to getting up at this time. Is it just me,