Page 2 of Vanessa’s Bravery

Ginger was one of the sex workers she saw regularly, and she was a good person—though she had a drug problem, which unfortunately made her take more risks than she should. But this wasn’t Ginger’s fault. The vampire who’d attacked her was a rogue, and he had to be stopped.

“Vanessa? Thank God.” Her voice was weak.

Vanessa crouched down next to Ginger and pressed a hand on the deep wound the vampire had left in her neck. He’d taken chunks of skin and flesh out, attesting either to his brutality and callousness, or to his inexperience. She instantly recognized the grave error she’d made. Had she snuck up on the vampire without announcing herself, and staked him instantly, Ginger’s injuries would have been less severe. But by being careless, she’d startled him and probably caused him to rip flesh and skin from Ginger’s neck by not retracting his fangs first.

Guilt charged through her. But to kill somebody was a step she’d never taken—never had to—and hoped never would. Either way, Ginger was in bad shape. She needed help right now.

“Press your hand on here,” Vanessa said, taking Ginger’s hand. “Press really hard, and just close your eyes, okay? I’ll give you something that’ll help you.”

When Ginger closed her eyes, Vanessa bit into her own wrist, before holding it over Ginger’s lips so the blood dripped into her mouth. “Swallow.”

Ginger swallowed dutifully, but continued to moan from the pain the rogue had inflicted. As Vanessa ran her eyes over her now, she discovered the claw marks the assailant had left on her breasts. Her skimpy top was ripped, and blood seeped from the gashes.

After a few moments, Vanessa lifted her wrist from over Ginger’s mouth and licked over the incisions. The tiny holes her fangs had left closed instantly, healed by her saliva. She wished she could heal Ginger just as quickly, but her injuries were too deep. The drops of vampire blood Vanessa had given her would help her hold on until they could reach a safe place.

“We’ve gotta go,” Vanessa said and lifted Ginger up, sliding one arm around the woman’s waist, while placing Ginger’s arm on her uninjured side across her shoulders so she could support Ginger’s weight. “Just keep pressing on that neck wound, okay?”

Ginger mumbled something incoherent. Vanessa dragged her out of the alley, heading uphill. The closest safe place was only a few blocks away. As long as Ginger could hold on for five more minutes, she would make it.

2

Cole Whitlock looked at the boxes that still sat unopened in one corner of the Russian Hill condo that he’d moved into only a week earlier. How long he would live in San Francisco, he didn’t really know yet. He never lived anywhere for too long. He needed the constant change of scenery to add excitement to his life that he couldn’t find in other pursuits. His company, an internet startup that had turned online advertising on its head, ran pretty much without him, affording him to live wherever he wanted. This time, his choice was San Francisco, but he hadn’t picked it for its architectural beauty, its history, or European flair.

He was finally ready to face his demons so he wouldn’t meet with the same fate as his father: spiraling down into a deep depression from where he’d only seen one way to escape. By committing suicide. Trent Whitlock had been a lonely man but a good father, who’d done everything in his power to make life easier for his only son.

Cole felt his heart beat faster at the memory of finding his father dead in his home. Cole had been a junior at college, and deep down he’d always known that one day his father wouldn’t be able to hold on to this life any longer. Cole had been dealt the same shitty hand, but he was determined to find a different solution to his problem. He wouldn’t give up. He would keep fighting.

He opened his father’s old journal where he’d recorded everything he’d attempted in order to alleviate his condition… and things he wanted to try but hadn’t accomplished before his death. The notes, which included names and numbers of doctors, charlatans, faith healers, and other dubious individuals didn’t make much sense to Cole, but he had nothing to lose at this point. With his company secure, he had the money and time to pursue what his father had given up on.

He’d found the San Francisco phone number in his father’s journal quite a while ago, but hadn’t called it yet. There was no name associated with it, and when he’d used a reverse phone lookup tool, he’d discovered that the number was unlisted.

“It’s now or never,” he mumbled under his breath and dialed. He put his cell phone on speaker mode and heard it ring.

It kept ringing, and Cole felt his hope evaporate with every second.

“Dr. Drake’s office,” a woman answered breathlessly. “Darn it! Get him outta here!”

Her last words sounded muffled, and he assumed she’d put her hand over the receiver to address somebody in the room.

“Hello? Who’s calling?”

“Uhm, yes,” Cole muttered so she wouldn’t hang up. He had to think quickly. He hadn’t expected to reach a doctor’s office at this time of night. After all, it was well past 9 o’clock. He didn’t really know what he’d expected. A private home maybe?

“Sir?”

“Yes, this is Cole Whitlock. I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Drake.”

“He’s all booked up tonight.”

“How about tomorrow during the day?”

There was a noticeable pause, and the woman’s voice suddenly changed from saccharin-sweet to icy-cold. “You must have the wrong number.”

“No, no. I’ve got the right number. It was given to me by my father.” That wasn’t the absolute truth, but it was the gist of it. “I really need to see Dr. Drake.”

“We don’t take any new patients at the moment,” she said, her voice hesitant.

“Miss, please,” he beseeched her, letting his charm flow into his voice. He knew he had a voice any radio personality would be envious of, and he had no scruples using the few advantages he’d been given in life. “You sound very busy. And working so hard at night must really take a toll. Can’t be easy to deal with difficult patients.”