Crimson Bite (Hillcrest Supernaturals Book 1)

by Ben Alderson

  Crimson Bite

  Hillcrest Supernaturals, #1

  Copyright © 2018 Danielle Rose & Ben Alderson

  All rights reserved.

  ASIN: B07HPCW91K

  Cover design by Covers by Christian

  Editing by Narrative Ink Editing LLC

  Book design by Red Umbrella Graphic Designs

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copy-righted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  The next spellbinding installment in the Hillcrest Supernaturals series...

  About the Authors

  Savi

  I feel her presence before I know she's there. Something inside of me... sparks. The fire ignites, my hair stands on end, and a shiver tingles in the deepest parts of me.

  The clichés are real. And sadly, for her, so are vampires.

  My pulse races at the thought of her. She's close. Too close. In the distance, I see her now. She doesn't know I'm watching her, waiting, hiding in the shadows, hungry for my escape.

  I blink, and suddenly, I'm behind her, closing the distance. The space feels oddly intimate. That's the worst part: the intimacy. The connection. The quiver within me begs to be sated. I don't want to feel this way. Not for her. Not for any of them. But I can't help it. I just do.

  Soon, my feelings won't matter. They'll fade away as the blood—her blood—consumes me. Spilling like milk over tile on a broken kitchen floor, it will reach every inch of me, covering every crevice of my mortal coil. I crave to bathe in it, to become anew again.

  I crave her in ways I could never explain. My need controls me... and I let it. In fact, I like it. I like succumbing to its will. In these moments, nothing is complicated. The chaotic world I live in is but a distant memory. There's only me, only them.

  I watch her as she tosses a glance over her shoulder. She doesn't see me. They never do. I melt into the shadows like a true night stalker. I see her face. Her unrecognizable characteristics intrigue me. Who is she? Why is she here? Locals know to steer clear of these woods, for they are controlled by the wolves. I dare fate, tempting her as I walk the forbidden paths of overgrown brush. The treaty says my people aren't welcome here. But I see no one around to keep me away. This girl, one of the many tourists drawn to the small, picturesque town of Hillcrest, must be lost.

  Her pulse quickens, her breath coming in quick bursts that only further excite me. Her hair clings to the back of her neck, and I reach to brush it away. Her neck is exposed to me. Her skin is pale and soft and smooth. My mouth waters.

  I gnaw on my lower lip, offering only enough pressure to hold me in this moment. I fear I may become so high off the scent of her natural musk I'll float away. Fighting the urge to twirl the loose strands of damp hair around my finger, I linger on the back of her neck a moment too long, and she turns abruptly.

  But I'm already gone, hiding behind a nearby tree.

  She twists, her legs giving way as she tumbles to the ground. I leap for her, wrapping my fingers around her wrist, and I pull her into my arms. She shuffles between her feet, regaining her composure.

  She thanks me, mentioning the seclusion of the forest. She thought she was alone.

  I see it in her eyes. Her gratefulness turns to shock and then fear. Only then does she realize I haven't yet released her from my grasp. I need not be a mind reader. I've met many victims this way. They all scream the same pleas. But my desire is far too loud, muffling any chance they have at reasoning with me.

  Her gaze meets my own, and she falters. A gasp escapes her as she takes me in. I may have average looks, but my red irises convince even the most diligent skeptics that I'm a vampire. I indulge in the look of horror that creases their tight, smooth skin.

  In these moments, when the hunger controls me, I'm a monster.

  "Shh. Don't speak. Don't scream," I say.

  She whimpers, tears threatening to spill. Humans invoke such strong emotions so quickly. Her heart slams against her rib cage with such force it nearly catapults into my eager fangs. She shakes, the autumn chill kissing her exposed skin.

  "Calm down."

  I offer the order in a whisper, and visibly, she calms before me. Nearly sinking in my arms, she smiles. I trace the curve of her neck with my finger, and she leans against my hand.

  "It won't hurt," I promise. It's a lie. It does hurt, but she'll never feel the pain. Not now. Not anymore. I run my tongue against my lips, scrapping the twin points of my fangs.

  She smiles and says, "No, it won't hurt."

  Maintaining my compulsion took actual effort tonight. I couldn't skip feedings or wait as long as I had anymore. I need to feed regularly, like the others did, even if that risks exposure, even if that risks upsetting him. George. My best friend since I was old enough to walk. I hate hiding this part of myself from him, but I can't bear to show him the monster within.

  I lean against her as a growl erupts from within me. The noise, deafening in the silence of the night, sounds as though it should come from a rabid beast, not me. I sink my fangs into her skin and relish in the taste of her warm, liquid embrace. She moans against me until falling limp in my arms. I consume everything she has to offer. I know I should stop, should let her live. But my monster knows no reasoning.

  Bits and pieces of her life flash behind my closed eyes. Her memories, once alive in her blood, now live within me, showcasing the pain of human mortality. I see her with a boy. They embrace. He kisses her, running a hand through her hair. They pull away, frantic. She tells him of a party deep within a hidden forest. This forest. It worries him. He doesn’t want her to go, but she insists. He won't let her go alone.

  As her last breath echoes in my ear, I think only about the poetic beats of her stilling heart.

  I watch the sun wish the moon goodbye as the day breaks. The shadows enveloping my world dissipate as the light kisses my skin. I struggle to welcome it. Being born and not bitten grants me many pleasantries, like being a day-walker and using compulsion. Even though I kno
w I'm blessed, I embrace the dark. Vampires were made to stalk as night-walkers. I can't deny the way the moon speaks to me.

  I think about the girl as I walk home. Her memory of a party in the woods nags at me. I know the area she spoke of. A tiny cliff, a secret spot, shielded by Wolfsbane Forest on one side and drenched in the fishy sea air of Raven Cry Lake on the other. Protected by the wolves, it's a hidden oasis.

  I glance up, shielding my eyes from the sun. My vampire senses are heightened, and though the sun's light stings, it does not hide what I seek. Invisible during the daylight hours to weaker eyes, the moon shines above me, beckoning, promising more midnight misadventures.

  If my new-found memories are true, the party is tonight—as is the full moon. When darkness falls, Wolfsbane Forest will be crawling with hungry, undisciplined werewolves. Those bitten, not born, can't control their change—or the inevitable ravage nature that follows. The elder wolves maintain order, making assurances to locals that the wolves will only hunt in the woods. Stay in. Stay safe. But what of tourists? What of horny, thirsty college students from the next town over? Stealing a soul here and there is something I can justify. Killing dozens for sport is just plain cruel.

  As I take the last few steps home, I think about George. He's likely slowly waking now, the sunlight hot on his tan skin. Unlike me, he relishes in the daylight. Sometimes, we're so different I wonder what he sees in me. In him, I see the boy who became my very best friend when I had no one else. He saw something in me I have yet to see: innocence. He never sees the monster, and I work hard every day to be the hero in that narrative.

  The cream-colored concrete steps to my family's Victorian manor are glaring at me, and all I can think is, they know. They know I've broken the one rule enforced by Hillcrest's council: don't kill. It seems simple, but any vampire would scoff at that thought. There's nothing simple about encaging a predator. I feel like a lion in a protected nature preserve. Sure, I'm free, but the tracer embedded under my skin keeps track of my every move. That’s not really freedom, is it?

  I slip inside the front door and speed-walk to my room. I can still catch a few hours of sleep before my brother notices I went missing. I make it down the foyer, through the sitting room, and up the first three stairs, thinking I'm definitely in the clear.

  "Savannah?"

  I curse internally. Spinning on my heel, I face my intruder. "Morning, Chad."

  "Have you only just gotten in?" He frowns and glances at the antique Grandfather clock our grandmother bought decades before we were born.

  I don't answer since it doesn't seem like a literal question.

  He crosses his arms over his chest, the sleeves of his shirt straining around his arms. I inherited my many wonderful traits from our recently departed mother—like my dark brown hair, my small frame, and my feisty attitude.

  "Just what were you doing out this late?" he asks.

  I shrug. Why answer? I mean, what can he really do? I've reached that golden age where living at home is semi-embarrassing. High school is over. College is months away. We’re orphans living in a manor passed down to us by generations of Danvers vampires. Our ancestors insisted we never move from our family home, so we're stuck here... together.

  He steps forward, his bright red gaze scanning my frame. He wants me to falter, but the blood coursing through my veins is tainted with the personality of an outcast girl whose only care in the world was her sexy boyfriend and college frat parties.

  He will find no weakness today.

  Closing his eyes, he inhales deeply, and I feel my chest clench. His eyelids dart open, and his narrowed gaze zones in on... me. He closes the space between us. His voice a whisper, he says, "You've fed? Where? Who? When?"

  I exhale slowly and shrug. "I had to. I skipped my last feeding."

  "You what? Why would you even take that risk?"

  "It's really not a big deal. She wasn't a local."

  "Are you sure?"

  I nod.

  "You compelled her?"

  Again, I nod. Must we ask mindless questions, dear brother?

  "Did anyone see you?"

  "Clearly not…"

  He exhales sharply as he leans against the banister. "Is she okay?"

  I swallow the knot that forms and nod. "She's fine."

  I lied, but he left me with no other choice. If I admit my indulgence, he'd be forced to report me to the council, and they don't take kindly to vampires killing humans. Feeding from and compelling tourists is one thing. Preferring blood bags, they don’t approve of it, but I don’t think they’d require my life if they found out I occasionally indulge myself. But murdering humans has never been allowed. At least, not since the factions created our treaty, the simple piece of paper detailing the dos and don’ts of Hillcrest supernaturals.

  He arches a brow. I can see that he's unconvinced, but I'm not in the mood. I'm exhausted, oddly aroused every time a new memory of my victim's boyfriend surfaces, and a bit annoyed that my own brother doesn't trust me enough to keep myself out of any real trouble. Obviously, I wouldn't kill a local, and I'm smart enough to cover my tracks. By the time the tourist’s body is found, it will be mauled by the wolves during the full moon. This is arguably the best time to break the treaty.

  As I stomp up the stairs and lock my bedroom door, I hear his complaints, but with each step I take, his voice becomes increasingly muffled. I'm too tired to play the doting younger sister. Still annoyed, I pull out my cell phone and send George a good morning text.

  You free tonight? I ask.

  Is that even a question?! What do you have in mind? he replies.

  It's a surprise. Meet me by Old Oak at sunset.

  I plug in my phone to charge, fall into bed, and let thoughts of full moon parties and sexy dark-skinned college boys drift me to sleep.

  George

  He is tied to the chair before me, head bowed to his chest. From the moment Mother walked me into the closed-off room in the basement of our home, I knew he was one of the freshly made, newly turned. A light sheen of sweat coats his pearlescent skin, which is so ivory his veins stand out proudly—blues and reds filled with pointless blood of a victim he had fed on. His hands shake as he grips onto the edge of the old oak chair, and the smell of death hangs heavily in the air each time he opens his panting mouth.

  Mother shuts the door behind us, locking it from the inside. The turn of the latch makes me jump. I used to wonder why she locked us in when there was no one else in the house who would ever stumble down here. This has always been our secret, one not even her coven knew about. Since Dad died, her secrets only intensified. They drove her into a strange sense of hate and madness that frightened me. Currently, that hate is pinpointed on the creature in the chair.

  “Begin,” she tells me from the shadows of the room.

  I step forward slowly and take a breath that seems to last a millennium. Breathing always helps me connect to that hidden part of me—the earthly part of my soul which links me to my abilities. It clears my mind, sharpens my senses, and wakes my will. These are key components to what inevitably comes next.

  Lightning spreads through my muscles, bones, and blood. If I had a mirror, I would see the emerald glow within my eyes. It is subtle enough that the mundane of Hillcrest would not notice a difference, but to my people, it is a sign of my rank, my bloodline.

  “Name,” I command, raising a hand toward the slumped figure. The air in the room is suddenly thick, enough for me to bend it to my will. The force pushes at the sharp chin of the man before me until he is forced to look back at me. He is young. His eyes are blood red, so deep and rich in color that I’m lost in them for a moment. Another face is conjured in my mind, but I push down the memory with vigor. I won’t let myself think of her when I do this. Savi could never know what happens here.

  “What a pretty boy. If you wanted to tie me up, you should have simply asked.”

  “Name,” I repeat. Mother will scold me for entertaining the turned. Getting the informa
tion I need is most important; I cannot allow for idle chatter.

  “I know why you ask for it, witch.”

  “Name.”

  Many weeks have passed since the last time Mother made me do this. My tactics are rusty and weak. It doesn’t help that I don’t see the point, nor do I enjoy when Mother requests this of me. But I can never turn her down, not after what happened to Dad. It is hard to refuse anything she asks of me. Having me as a puppet seems to help her cope with Father’s absence. No matter how warped that seems to me in the quiet of my mind. Regardless, she is my mother. I owe her this as her son—or, at least, that is what she tells me.

  “I can smell your blood, so rich and delicious. Can I… May I,” the turned licks his lips, running his already blood-stained tongue across the two points that extend over his bottom lip. “Then I will give you my name. I promise.”

  “Enough. Provide me his name, George,” Mother chimes in from behind me, her calm voice putting me more on edge than the threat of being fed from by the creature before me. I know what she wishes me to do.

  I turn to the small, covered window which crests the wall behind the turned. A single look is all it takes for the blinds to start recoiling up. As it does, the morning sun begins to burst through, sliding across the floor toward the turned’s feet.

  “Name,” I say again, keeping my voice as stern as Mother’s would be.

  The turned is now transfixed by the sun which creeps toward him. He tilts his head like a new puppy that had never seen wonderous light before. I add it to a mental list of proof that he is in fact one of the turned. Only born vampires, like Savi, can walk in the blessed sun. Those bitten lose that privilege the moment they become the monster, the predator.