Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (pdf e book reader .TXT) 📕

brunette with almond-shaped eyes approached with pen in hand. “N. K., I have nothing for you to sign, but you are my first actual American celebrity.”

“Really, I don’t know that I qualify.”

“Perhaps,” the brunette said, “you can sign my arm?”

“If you’d like. What’s your name?”

“Erota. Mrs. Erota Pace. Or it will be soon.”

“A beautiful name.” Nikki took the pen, a weighted writing instrument with a fine black point. Others were fidgeting behind Erota, anxious for their turns. “How far did you travel for the event?”

“From Ukraine.”

“Aren’t you a darling? That may very well be a record.”

Erota pushed back a lock of shining hair. “Now, though, I live only a few kilometers . . . or, I should say, miles . . . away. My future husband came to Kiev for me, and he has brought me here to the States. We live in Buckhead.”

“I know it well. One of my favorite areas of Atlanta.”

“Much different than Ukraine. I’ve also been to Romania.”

A pang of apprehension shot through Nikki. She gave a guarded laugh. “Yes, it’s a whole different world here, isn’t it? So, how did you hear about the seminar?”

“My future sister-in-law, she is a fan of yours. Kristine’s been to your sessions before, and she said I must come with her so we could have a bonding experience. She’s even more excited than her brother about my arrival in America.”

The next student in line was pressing in, shifting from foot to foot.

“Thank you, Erota, for coming. Which arm did you want me to sign?” Nikki suspended the pen over the woman’s olive skin. “Left arm or right?”

Erota bared her left. Nikki signed. She flipped the pen, so that it would not be pointed at her guest, and handed it back. As she did so, the next life student shoved forward for his opportunity and, in the blur of movement and clutch of bodies, the pen wedged between Nikki and Erota.

The sharp tip broke the skin along the top of Nikki’s hand—a minor abrasion. She felt only a pinprick of heat.

Nevertheless, tiny spheres of blood dotted the surface.

Erota was horrified. She babbled in Ukrainian before switching to English. “I am so sorry.” She grasped Nikki’s injured hand. “Please, you will forgive me?”

“Actually,” Nikki said. “I believe this young man is the one who—”

She realized then that Erota was kissing her wound. She felt the woman’s cool breath and the press of full lips. Despite the act’s tenderness, she was nauseated by the thought of this stranger partaking of her life force, and was sickened even more by the expanding smear of crimson across the woman’s mouth.

Those painted lips. A mirror image of her own, only days earlier.

Nikki sensed a siphoning away of her own thoughts, her memories starting to stretch and tear. The room was shrinking, zooming out. Was this the sensation Gina had endured as a child?

She grasped Erota’s wrist and tried to disengage herself from the woman’s hold. The skin was cold. Something about the woman’s nearness, about her presence, caused Nikki’s insides to quiver, and she thought of warnings she’d been given long ago.

Could this be a Collector?

Nikki had never knowingly faced a Collector in the flesh. She’d been told they could inhabit hosts of all sorts, anything that could facilitate the partaking of blood. She’d also been informed they were masters of concealment, capable of pulling far back behind the human facade.

“It’s quite all right, Erota,” she said. “Really.”

“It was an accident.”

“I know, I know.”

“An accident,” Erota repeated, eyes lowered.

Seeing how the poor woman was stunned by her own actions, Nikki questioned the suspicions she had begun to entertain. Erota seemed harm-less enough, if not a bit strange. She’d kissed a wound, that was all. Surely, if she were a Collector, she would’ve hooked in with elongated fangs and lapped up blood with a sandpaper tongue.

“Thank you for your concern,” Nikki said.

Already, though, the Ukrainian had pushed long-nailed hands into her jeans pockets and filed away through the crowd.

“Wasn’t that just fantastic? So enlightening.”

“Enlightening? Yes,” Erota said. “Thank you for taking me, Kristine.”

“Why, sweetie, this is so exciting. I’ve never had a sister-in-law. It’ll be like having a new best friend. Mmmm.” Kristine Pace lifted her shoulders and scrunched her eyelids together. “It’s so wonderful, all the adventures we can have. We’ll get along fabulously. That’s just clear as crystal.”

Kristine pulled her BMW 740i past a wrought-iron gate and parked at the scalloped stone entry to a grand Tudor-style home. Hickory trees and rhododendrons graced the landscaped lawns.

“Here you are. It doesn’t look like my brother is home, which isn’t surprising. Pharmaceuticals, you know. He’s always busy, always working a deal or golfing with a client. Any excuse to hit the links, if you know what I mean.”

Erota hoped a nod would stem the flow.

“He’s given you a key, I hope?”

Erota patted her pocket.

“Oh, good. And you know the code for the alarm?”

Erota patted her temple.

“So how’re you liking my brother’s swanky digs?”

Raymond Pace’s small estate was situated off of Peachtree Road Northeast, in one of Atlanta’s most affluent areas. Buckhead, called the Beverly Hills of the South by some, was home to professional athletes, wealthy business and medical professionals. Even Elton John had a parttime residence here.

“Very much, yes,” she said. “Ray-Ban is a rich man, I think.”

“Honey, don’t let that intimidate you. Some people might say you’re lucky to find him, but it’s the other way around. A dear like you? He should be thanking his lucky stars. Anyway, I just know we’re going to get along, you and me. I’ve got this feeling down in my bones. Well, there I go again, talking your ear off. You poor thing. If I’m going too fast, you’ll let me know, won’t you? Because I do have a tendency to do that.” Kristine winked. “At least now you see why Raymond’s the way he is. He had me for a little sister, and I suppose I used up all of his words.”

“That’s okay.” Erota