Blood King (Spirit Seeker Book 1)

by Amber K. Bryant

  Then they were both laughing, Devin continuing semi-hysterically until his eyes watered, until his lungs ached and his stomach grew taught. He was long overdue for a good laugh. After everything that had happened, he was entitled to this bit of borrowed joy. He shouldn’t have to experience the fear his sister had in the Low all those years ago. Or the fear he himself had felt when he’d come searching for her…

  There was no reason for him to be anything but happily numb as Atkin’s dagger-like teeth pierced the vein in his wrist so he could drink his fill of Devin’s Crave-enriched blood.

  By the time he stopped laughing, Atkins was already slumped against him. Devin pushed him off, watching as the thirster collapsed onto the couch. He peeled back the Blood King’s eyelids; glossed-over black irises peered blindly out at him. They reminded Devin of an alien. Shivering, he closed the lids again.

  “And so it goes, Blood King.” A mighty tree of a beast, taken down by less than a pint of tainted blood.

  Devin picked up the gauze the Blood King had supplied for him and wrapped it around his wrist to stanch the flow of blood. The thing about Strike was that it didn’t just mitigate Crave’s effects. It mixed with Crave and created a substance that was harmless to humans. But to Bloodthirsters? Not so much. Strike’s existence was only known to a small group of people. This group included Devin and its creator, Peter Esmond. Its lethal properties were a well-guarded secret for the obvious reason that if bloodthirsters had no clue it existed, they had no reason to fear it.

  He felt Atkin’s neck for a pulse, waiting a full minute to make sure there wasn’t a single beat.

  Was this kill too easy? This question popped into Devin’s mind but departed just as quickly. Simply because the method of a kill was easy didn’t mean it was the wrong course of action to take. If Strike helped him finish this job, then so be it.

  Knowing Sybille would be too far into the possession to use her phone, he sent Peter a one-word text:

  Done.

  Struggling into his jacket, he stood on wobbly legs and made his way to the back door. It took a good bit of shoving to work it open. As it gave way, a high-pitched squeal pierced the night.

  “Shit!” Of course the Blood King would have armed this princess palace dump of his. Drugs, money, secrets—all reasons for Atkins to keep the place secured. If Devin wasn’t half-baked, he’d have thought things through before triggering a brain-imploding alarm. He staggered out the door. Too late for regrets.

  Devin circled the building. Screams and the pounding of boots merged with the blaring alarm. Someone shouted, angry words he was guessing were aimed at him. He took off running in what he hoped was a relatively straight line towards his vehicle, hands fumbling for the keys in his pocket. Just as he reached his truck, someone came up behind him and slammed him against it. His jaw ignited as it scraped against metal, the force of the impact sending his keys flying. While his attacker was busy banging his head into the truck for a second and then a third time, Devin managed to tighten his fingers around the wooden stake he kept wedged between a spare tire and a toolbox in the truck’s bed.

  Perhaps the Low yielded miracles after all.

  Had his pursuer seen him grab it? Hard to tell. It was dark and Devin was quick. Maybe not quick enough. Before he could do anything to free himself, the man had Devin pinned to the truck, his staking hand—thankfully not the one currently wrapped like a mummy with two puncture wounds in his vein—trapped between himself and its door.

  His assailant pressed into him harder. “What did you do to him?”

  Devin worked his jaw, trying to determine if he’d be able to use it to speak. This thirster was getting desperate. Better see what he could do.

  “All I did was give him what he wanted—Craved-up human blood. But then he passed out and I didn’t know what was wrong with him. I thought I’d get blamed, so I panicked and ran.” His chin was on fire now; it burned even with the Crave still working its way through his system. Still he kept talking. “I’m sorry, okay? But it wasn’t me, it was just a coincidence that I was there. I wanted to work with him, I swear to you! Why would I kill someone I thought I could make money from?”

  “Maybe he turned you down. Maybe you got mad.” Even as he was arguing his point, Devin could feel the man wavering. He wanted to know what had happened to his boss and now he wasn’t totally sure Devin was the one to blame. Devin was good at planting seeds of doubt.

  The thirster eased up, just enough for Devin to twist to the side. He swung and Devin ducked, using the attacker’s momentum against him by pressing his free hand into the back of his elbow. The man yelped in pain and tried to hit Devin with his other hand. Moving the thirster’s arm up to block this attack, Devin saw his opening. Stake at the ready, he plunged it into the beast’s heart. He sputtered, staring at Devin with eyes cycling through a range of emotions—shock, bitterness and finally, relief, before falling lifeless to the ground.

  No one else had followed the man from the bar, but the commotion building within Hocus was sure to explode outward into the parking lot at any moment. Devin had to get out of there before anyone else came for him. Feeling for his keys in the darkness, it took a few long seconds to find where they’d become wedged in the gap between the hood and the windshield. Thanks to Peter’s serum, the effects of the Crave were rapidly wearing off, enough so that he was confident he could drive without ramming himself into a tree. He scrambled into his truck. Vaguely wondering whether it was the blood loss or Strike’s side effects or the blows to his head causing the waves of nausea rolling through him, he held his bleeding wrist above his heart as he sped away through the dark and endless forest.

  He continued until he had cleared the Low. Even when he was well beyond it, he refused to stop to rest. Five hours later, eyes barely opened, gauze bloodied, jaw still pounding, whole body throbbing, Devin pulled up in front of Sybille’s house.

  Only when he saw her would this night be over.

  This was turning out to be one hell of a long night.

  Nate had proven himself an obnoxious houseguest, straining Sybille’s body until she was sure she would be joining his spirit in the Beyond. If she did survive, it seemed he was hell-bent on leaving the place totally trashed. Her back was already blistered, the ends of her hair singed. And she was reasonably sure he’d come close to dislocating one of her shoulders in his maddening attempts to display his displeasure at what was happening to him.

  All she could do was hope Devin succeeded in his mission soon. Then she’d be able to send everyone away, including Elis. When that happened, she planned on sleeping for a solid day. The thought of this made Sybille pine for complete unconsciousness. She could have it, too. It would be so easy to let go, to let the night pass without her being present to what happened during it. She wouldn’t let herself do that, though. That sort of release came with its own set of dangers. It was enough that she was letting the disincarnate spirit of a monster poke around in her body. She couldn’t just check out while it did what it was going to do. She had to play witness to it, as terrible as the experience may be.

  Nate, sweet and gentle Nate, was more wrathful than she would have imagined possible. His bloodthirster must be one son of a bitch. Nate struck out at her family whenever they tried to comfort him and, point in his favor, he pummeled Celebrimbor right in his snout when the hooded twit was stupid enough to get in his face.

  “No!” His nose became a blood faucet when the punch landed. “I was just trying to see into your eyes to find out if Sybille… I mean… I doth desired to ascertain whether thy fair Lady Sybille was still to be found. Why’d thou… Dammit, why’d you have to do this, you freak?” Voice set to screech-mode, he dabbed the blood away with the sleeve of his robe. Sybille had never seen Bore, or any of the Patrons for that matter, break character before. If she’d had the ability to control her own lungs and mouth at that moment, she would have laughed.

  Elis glowered at them from the corner of the dining room. “Of cours
e, she’s still there.” He sounded to Sybille like he was trying to convince himself. “Where would she go?”

  By that point, Margot and Peter had conceded that the spirit was going to do as much outward destruction as he was doing inward damage. Nate pounded the floor, the table, he left fist-sized dents in the dining room walls, and of course, the tablecloth was completely unsalvageable. Her mother would not be pleased about that.

  “You have a lot of pent-up rage, don’t you?” Keeping his distance, Peter examined the line of salt he’d placed in the archway leading to the living room, put there so Nate would confine his damage to one room.

  “I hate you!” He threw a wine glass at Peter, who ducked to the side. The glass bounced off the couch and crashed onto the floor.

  Margot gasped. “That was my mother’s!”

  Elis snorted. “Kind of a bad idea to have it out during a spirit possession, don’t you think?”

  She shrugged. “If it’s the price I must pay in order to be able to enjoy a few glasses of wine through this ordeal, then no, it’s not a bad idea. I suppose we could start drinking out of jelly jars, though, like the kids do nowadays.”

  Elis reached down to pick up a large sliver of broken glass, swearing when his hand went through it. “Why is it that I’m walking on the floor like I can really feel it, but I go through everything else like it’s not there? Did you ever wonder about that with ghosts?”

  “You only think you feel the floor, dear.” Margot continued to stare at her ruined glassware. “It’s all in your head, really. You could learn to influence the material world, moving things the way poltergeists do. It takes a great deal of practice, but it’s—”

  “Why are you talking about this? None of it matters! I need you to do what I want! I need…” Nate’s words faded. Sybille shook in the tiny corner of her brain as his panic grew exponentially. “Something is happening.”

  About time. Finally, the bloodthirster was being dealt with. His death would bring on the possession’s grand finale, then Nate would be free of the world, and Sybille would be free of him.

  Peter guided Bore, now holding a damp towel to his face, towards the table again. “I just got a text from Devin. This is it.”

  It was indeed. Clearly, Nate didn’t know how to process what was happening. Not surprising. Spirits, for all their desire to be freed of the Now World, were often horrified when that moment came. It meant letting go to the last vestiges of their earthly existence. What had seemed so desirable in theory, became something to rage against, futile though it may be.

  This was the money shot of the spirit possession, the final act that made Bore wet and left his wallet wide open. As Nate rebelled against his own deepest desire, Sybille’s body rose off the floor until she was levitating just above the table, her arms ridged at her sides, the glow of a thousand lanterns shining from deep within her belly. Groans and growls and obscenities spewed from her mouth. She couldn’t stop them, couldn’t stop any of it.

  “My god, she looks…” Elis’ ghostly hands waved through her floating legs. “She looks like she swallowed the sun.”

  The Patron, Celebrimbor, knelt next to the table, hands folded reverentially, head lifted towards Sybille as though he was venerating a long-forgotten deity. “May thy spirit pass beyond this world. May thy spirit pass beyond this world.” His chant echoed through the room as he repeated the phrase.

  At Elis’ confused expression, Margot leaned towards him and whispered, “I told him someone needed to chant that in order for the spirit to be released.”

  “Is it true?”

  “Truth is subjective.” She shrugged. “It makes him feel needed, which makes him feel happy, and a happy Patron is a generous Patron.”

  Sybille’s floating body continued to light up the room. Even though his eyes weren’t physically there in the Esmond’s house, Elis still had to shield them from the sight of her. She was newly fallen snow on a sunny winter morning.

  Her body began to rotate, slowly at first, then faster, until it was spinning like a top. Light shot out of her, and all the while, Nate screamed. The humans in the room, even awestruck hierophant-groupie Celebrimbor, moved away, clinging to the wall to keep themselves out of the path of the possessed woman whirling at the room’s center.

  Elis gaped at the scene in horror. Sybille was like the center of an out-of-control Ferris wheel, spinning so fast now that she’d become a blur of hands and feet, her red dress like an origami windmill set ablaze.

  With a wail and a shudder, the light spun its way from Sybille’s center up into her chest, then her throat before being expelled out of her mouth into the room, where it bounced off the walls, everyone ducking to keep out of its way. Finally, it twisted and twirled like a column of DNA, spiraling up through the ceiling. A crackle like distant thunder shook the walls and then it was gone.

  The room dimmed.

  Sybille’s body slowed, tottered, and fell. Peter managed to catch her head before it crashed against a metal platter, one of the few dinner trimmings still left on the table.

  “Is she okay?” Elis glided over to her. Already, her skin had regained some of its former color, but her cheeks were still sunken and even in unconsciousness, her expression remained pained.

  “No.” Margot stroked her daughter’s forehead. Sybille didn’t respond. “She never is after a possession and this one was particularly harsh. She just needs time. She’ll be…” Margot froze, her gaze turning from shock to sorrow as she focused on something beyond Elis.

  Elis turned, seeing for himself what Margot was so appalled by.

  It couldn’t be.

  Nate stood a foot away from them. Ignoring their shocked expressions, he peered at Sybille as she lay motionless on the table.

  “What happened to Sybille? And where’d the tablecloth go?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Margot’s expression when she opened the door was enough to make Devin’s breath catch. Nate’s spirit must have put up quite a fight.

  “Where is she?” He pushed past her and made his way into the living room. Sybille lay face down on the couch, her arms wrapped around a pillow. Peter crouched over her exposed back, applying a gooey salve to it.

  He sat on the floor in front of her. “Is she burned?”

  Sybille opened her eyes. “Still in the Now World, Devin. You can talk directly to me. Also, you’ve got a pretty good view of my back. So, kind of a dumb question.”

  At least she hadn’t lost her snide sense of humor. He grasped her hand, warm and soft. She squeezed his fingers, then pulled back.

  “What happened, Sybille?”

  A short gurgling laugh ensued. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

  “What do you mean? I went to the Low, found the target. Took him out.”

  “I think there’s a tad more to the story. You look like hell, by the way.”

  Devin bit his lip, weighing his next words carefully. He glanced up at Peter, who refused to make eye contact. He’d be no help. Peter kept some of his riskier chemical endeavors under wraps. He didn’t want his family to know that he was Strike’s inventor. Margot had always found her brother’s interest in bloodthirster drugs unsettling, so he had hidden Strike’s origins from her and subsequently from Sybille as well.

  Devin was on his own trying to explain what had happened, but he preferred not to say exactly how he’d killed Atkins. Taking Crave wasn’t something she’d approve of. Besides, if she thought he was an addict, there was a good chance she’d decide not to keep him on her payroll.

  “It wasn’t the easiest assignment you’ve ever handed me, but what does it matter? Nathanial Atkins is dead.”

  Peter snorted. “Nathanial Atkins is sitting right over there, staring at what’s left of my grandmother’s lace tablecloth.” He pointed towards the dining room.

  Devin shook his head. “Uh-uh. That’s not possible.” He stood and wandered towards the empty chairs situated by the table. The tablecloth lay on its scratched surface in
a charred bundle. “I killed him. I saw him die. I checked his eyes, his pulse. I’m certain of it.”

  Margot placed a hand on his shoulder and studied the wound on his jaw. “Of course, dear. And you must have seen him turn to ash?”

  He shrugged off her touch and rounded back to the couch. “No, I… I had to make a run for it. But I know he was dead. He was dead, Sybille. I swear to you!”

  Sybille struggled to prop herself up, hugging a towel to her chest. “I believe you. I saw his spirit leave; we all did. But he came back, Devin. Somehow, he managed to, well...to not stay dead.”

  Devin ran his fingers through his hair. “How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know, but I know someone who might.”

  “That Elis guy, right?” Weird freak of nature. Still, he might know how this other weird freak of nature may have come about. “Is he still here too?”

  Peter scooped up his healing supplies and deposited them into a leather satchel. “Elis’ spirit can appear to us only when his body is asleep. He’s otherwise tied to his bloodthirster. Claims to be part of him, in fact. ‘Rejoined’ is the word he used.” The two men exchanged their first glance of the morning and then Peter headed for the staircase. “When Sybille’s done with you, Devin, come upstairs and let me assess your wounds.”

  “Devin.” Sybille braced her head against the back of the couch and took slow deep breaths. “I need to ask you for a favor. Are you up for it?”

  What he was up for was a hot shower, the antibiotics he was hoping Peter had stashed in that medicine bag of his, and bed, not whatever she had planned. “Of course. What is it?”

  “I have an appointment with a certain supernatural hypnotist. It looks as though I’m not going to be able to fill it, so...”

  Devin snorted. He shifted his weight and began tapping his foot against the Esmond’s hardwood floor. The last thing he needed after the night he’d had was to deal with a bloodthirster he wasn’t allowed to kill. Anything but that. “No. No way.”