11

One nice thing about bad days, Garreth reflected ironically, was that something else always came along to offer an alternative worry . . . in this case, hunger. The four quarts of blood he had collected to keep him fed on the way east were gone. Tonight he needed to find a new source of food.

Rinsing out his thermos in the washbowl of his motel room, he considered the possibilities. He had already concluded that rats would not be as common in a small town as along the Embarcadero, a fact he faced with mixed emotions. As much as he detested being dependent on rats to live, at least he knew where and how to hunt them. He knew nothing about jackrabbits and prairie dogs, the two comparable species he most associated with the plains, and after driving across this country today, he wondered whether the creatures could be considered a viable alternative. Not one rabbit had appeared anywhere near the road during the drive, nor had he seen a single sign of a prairie dog town. The sound of distant and not-so-distant barking told him the town supported a canine population, but he still found himself reluctant to use dogs. People cared about them.

Outside, the sky blazed scarlet, then darkened. A series of violent cramps doubled him, goading him into action. Garreth headed for his car. He had learned to hunt rats, after all, by hunting them. Why should rabbits be any different?

The highway took him out of town almost immediately. Somewhere north a few miles, he turned off the highway onto a graveled road and pulled over. On both sides of the road lay rolling fields. He studied them, alert for any signs of life, but nothing moved. Still, it must be there. The night wind brought him a faint scent of something warmly blood-filled.

Garreth considered the fence around the pasture on his side of the road. Instead of planks, four taut strands of barbed wire enclosed the pasture. He tested the ends of the bars with a cautious finger. Sharp. Crawling through the fence could ruin his new jeans, not to mention putting holes in his hide. Then it occurred to him that a fence presented less of a barrier than a gate across a pier entrance. With a sigh for his mental slowness, he moved through the fence.

Once inside and walking across the pasture, he found plenty of life, mostly mice and quail, too small to do him good. He literally stumbled over the quail. They leaped skyward around him with startled cries and a storm of wings. Ahead, though, a rabbit leaped out of the brush and bounded up a rise, frightened into flight by the panicking quail.

Garreth followed cautiously, just close and fast enough to keep the rabbit in sight while he waited for it to halt. Once when it zigged across in front of him, he dropped to a crouch and waited motionless until the rabbit turned away again. The stalk gave him a vague sense of déjà vu, which turned to amusement when he identified the reason for the feeling. He laughed silently. See the ex­cop shadowing the rabbit. Isn't it nice he can put his training to good use?

Moments later Garreth gave thanks he had not gone flat out in a footrace after the rabbit. It disappeared over the crest of the rise, and when he followed it, he found himself face-to-face with a cow that loomed huge as an elephant and pale as a ghost in the twilight brightness of his vision. If he had been moving fast, he would have run head-on into it.

The cow snorted in surprise.

Garreth backed away. He had better get the hell out of here.

Then he stopped, nostrils flared, nose filled with the blood scent that the wind had brought him at the pasture fence. He stared at the cow. Cattle had blood, too . . . in great quantity. If Lane could drink from a man and not kill him, would a cow even miss a quart or two?

On the other hand, could he control a cow as he did rats? This one seemed docile, but he knew nothing about cows, had, in fact, never been this close to one before. Did they often grow so terrifyingly large?

Another doubt assailed him, too. Could he find a vein? That neck was far thicker than Velvet's had been.

The cow snorted again and lowered its head. Garreth sensed that he must either act or retreat. He licked his lips and wiped suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans. Moving enough to catch the cow's eye, he focused on it. "Hello, friend. Listen to me. Stand still for me. Don't move."

The animal's eyes widened, showing white rims that glistened in the night. Its ears wagged.

"I need a little of your blood, enough to feed me. It won't hurt." He kept his voice low and even.

The cow relaxed visibly.

So did Garreth. "Lie down for me. Lie down."

The white rims still showed around the cow's eyes, but its legs began to sag, the forelegs folding first, followed by the hind ones. Its nose dropped to touch the earth.

Still talking, Garreth moved toward the cow. He reached out and gingerly touched the massive head. The hair felt warm, soft, and curly under his fingers. The cow did not flinch or resist. Murmuring soothingly, Garreth knelt and moved his hand back along the head past the ear, toward the throat. He probed the neck behind the jaw, searching for a pulse.

He found it, beating strong and slow. Keeping the fingers of one hand on it, he pushed at the thick shoulders with the other. "Roll," he said softly. "Lie flat."

With a sigh, the cow did so. Garreth, still on his knees, bent over the outstretched neck and, extending his fangs, bit where his fingers touched.

But found only flesh and the barest taste of blood. Not again! He wanted to scream in frustration.

The cow twitched. Panic boiled up. Garreth needed all his willpower to control it. He thought frantically. The pulse throbbed under his fingers; he smelled the blood running hot under the pale hide. It had to be in there somewhere. He made himself try again, biting in a slightly different position.

This time blood spurted. The twin gushers filled his mouth. After his usual refrigerated diet, its heat startled him. He nearly let go. But the driving hunger in him quickly overcame surprise, followed, however, by more frustration. Despite its heat and volume, the blood still did not satisfy him, only filled his stomach. He sat back, holding thumbs over the punctures with longing snarling in him. Tears of fury gathered in his eyes. No. It isn't fair! Blood is blood. Why isn't this enough? Why do I never stop wanting human blood?

The cow lay quiescent, its eyes closed, snoring. Garreth removed his thumbs. The punctures had stopped seeping blood. A handful of earth rubbed into the hide covered the marks. Then Garreth stood.

The cow opened its eyes and rolled onto its chest, but made no further attempt to stand, just closed its eyes again. Still, Garreth eyed it as he backed away. It was a very large animal. He did not turn until he was over the hill, then, once out of sight, he ran . . . partially to put distance between himself and the huge animal, partly in a vain attempt to run away from the longings racking him. But there was enjoyment, too, in the nighttime strength and energy clamoring for release.

He ran, his lungs and heart pumping. The ground streamed beneath his feet as power surged through him. Soon exhilaration drowned all other thoughts and he gave himself up to the unthinking joy of motion. He had never been able to run this fast before!

The fence stretched ahead. Should he stop for it? Hell, no. He hit it without even slowing down-wrench-passing through like the night wind.

At the car he stopped and to his delighted astonishment, found his heart and breathing barely above normal. He whooped. At this rate, he could run for miles without even trying. What a kick.

Headlights found him there beside the car.

He froze in their glare, throwing up an arm to shield his eyes. The action came reflexively but even as his forearm rose between his eyes and the lights, Garreth realized it served another purpose as well, to keep the driver of the car from seeing his eyes reflecting red.

The lights halted as the car stopped. A door opened.

Not being able to see who climbed out of the car, Garreth assumed the worst—a drunk or bully who thought a man alone on a country road made easy pickings—and prepared to fight. Since resigning, he had had to stop carrying a gun, but tonight's run had given him some hint of the strength his vampire change had brought him, and between that and police hand-to-hand combat training, surely he could tie any assailant in knots.

"Howdy," a voice said from behind the lights.

Garreth heard the hard edge of authority beneath the amiable greeting. He lowered his arm enough to peer over it at the shape of a light bar on top of the car. Relief swept through him. No drunk or bully but a local cop. Then, remembering times on patrol with a few partners before Harry, he wondered if he might not have been better off with a drunk or bully.

"Good evening, Officer," he said.

"Deputy sheriff," the voice corrected him. "What's your name?"

"Garreth Mikaelian. My driver's license is in my pocket. Would you like to see it?"

"Yes." As Garreth fished his billfold out of his hip pocket and extracted the license, the deputy said, "You have California plates. You a student at the college, son?"

College? Yes, he did seem to remember some sign naming a college in Hays. He debated his answer and chose honesty. "No."

The deputy moved into the headlights to take the license. "Visiting someone in town?"

"I'm here on personal business . . . staying at the Holiday Inn."

"What are you doing way out here?"

What answer would the deputy accept? What would he accept if their positions were reversed? The easiest solution was to look the man in the eyes and persuade him to find nothing suspicious in Garreth being out here. Conscience stopped him, however. The last few times he had persuaded people, he could not help but remember, it brought nothing but trouble to people he cared about. In any case, who could be sure of the long-term effects? If nothing else, the deputy had surely called in before leaving his car and an inconsistent report would raise questions Garreth might not care to answer. No, somehow he had to satisfy the deputy here and now in a straightforward way.

"I'm a night person and your town goes to sleep before I do. Since there was nothing else to do, I took a drive. This is a spectacular sky."

"I saw you in that pasture."

Garreth kept his voice casual. "I wanted to see what the countryside looked like from the top of that hill. I did, and then I came back to the car."

"Running in the dark? What was your hurry?"

He could hardly tell the deputy how well he saw in the dark. "Look, Deputy, maybe I trespassed, but I didn't hurt anything. I'll take you where I went and you can see for yourself. There's nothing but a cow asleep on the other side of the hill."

"Cow?" The deputy laughed shortly. "The Good Lord looks after fools, I guess. Son, that 'cow' is Vale's Chablis of Postrock, Postrock ranch's prize Charolais show bull, or he was until he got too mean to handle."

Garreth swallowed. "Mean?"

"He's put three men in the hospital. You could have paid for that walk with your life." The deputy handed back the driver's license. "Suppose you forget about looking at the night sky and go on back to town."

Garreth went, shaking in retrospective fear. But gradually, new feelings replaced the fear. He had found a plentiful source of blood, and he had controlled the bull. Best yet, he had not had to kill for his meal. He had better find a cover for his nocturnal hunting trips, though. The next deputy might not believe that he was driving for lack of anything better to do.

He would take up "jogging." Everyone ran these days. Tomorrow before he set out south to look at more school records, he would buy a pair of running shoes and a warm-up suit to lend his story credence. But maybe he should be a bit more careful, too, about what cattle he fed on.