Demon Marked: Book 1 of the Venandi Chronicles ( An Urban Paranormal Romance Series)

by Sara Snow

  I thought of the way she’d responded to Jose—I could feel the warmth radiating from her spirit when she spoke to the boy, and I had wished like hell the same woman would turn that heat on me.

  Thinking of Jose, I realized that I could hear him talking to himself in the next room. I could tell he was dreaming, because his voice rose and fell in a pitch that sounded increasingly frantic.

  “Stop it! Don’t kill him!” the boy screamed. “He never hurt anyone in his life. I’ll do anything you want, just don’t kill him!”

  I jumped out of bed, threw my coat over my naked body, and ran to Jose’s room. His nightmares were so vivid and terrifying these days that they’d come close to stopping his heart in the past. That’s why Kingston had given him the room next to mine.

  “Jose! Wake up!”

  The boy sat straight up in bed. Sweat glistened on his face and bare chest. He panted raggedly. An artery throbbed in his thin neck.

  I sat down on his bed and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tight.

  “It’s okay, buddy. Just another nightmare. I’m here now.”

  “She was going to kill him,” he gasped. “She had her teeth...her teeth in his neck to hold him down. And she had these long nails that were tearing his chest open!”

  I let him go and sat back to look at him. “Who did? Who was she?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen her in any dream before. But she tore the guy’s chest open, and I knew she was going to tear his heart out. And he was screaming!”

  Jose sobbed, holding his head in his hands as if he could squeeze the horrific vision out of his skull.

  “Jose, listen. Try to calm down. We need to help this guy. Can you tell me if this is happening right now? Or is it going to happen in the future?”

  I hoped that Jose’s dream had been a portent of the future, not a vision of a killing that had already happened. Because if this vampire—and she could only be a vampire from the murder he described—had already gotten her fangs and claws into this guy, it was far too late to help him.

  Jose sat still for a moment. He was still breathing fast, but I could tell that he was trying to recall his dream.

  “It was so clear,” he said. “The whole scene, it was just like it was happening right in front of me. The street was empty. She had him follow her down an alley. She was wearing a red dress—really tight—and high-heeled shoes. And short blonde hair in spikes all over her head, like some kind of crown.”

  “Good. Keep going. Give me more details.”

  Jose sat upright, his brown eyes widening. “A clock. There’s a big digital clock in the sky, up on the wall of the building. I saw big green numbers.”

  “What does it say? What time is it?”

  “Zero, two, two, zero,” he said triumphantly. “It’s two-twenty in the morning.”

  I looked at my watch. It was going on one a.m. If this scene was unfolding in the future and it was happening tonight, I had two hours to figure out where this poor guy was. From Jose’s description, it sounded like a pickup that was about to go very, very wrong.

  “Bars close at two a.m.,” I said. “But you wouldn’t know that.”

  Jose managed a shaky smile. “I don’t even drink.”

  At this moment, the victim was probably sitting on a barstool somewhere while the vampire made her move on him. She’d be walking those long nails up the length of his thigh, stopping at his crotch to cup his goods. Her pointed tongue would be gliding up his neck, tracing the ridge of his carotid artery.

  Yum, yum.

  Meanwhile, her poor victim would be deliriously happy, thinking he’d hit the jackpot of one-night stands. Little did he know that he was about to lose his heart to a vampire—literally.

  My heart stopped for a few beats. Something about Jose’s description of the vampire triggered an image from my past. A hot memory, but not a happy one.

  “Can you tell me more about what the woman looked like? It might help me find her.”

  “She was tall. Super tall—like a basketball player. And she had curves like this.” Jose made the shape of an hourglass with his hands.

  “What about her hair? You said it was spiky.”

  “Yeah. Like a crown. And blonde, almost white. But the tips were red like her dress.”

  I patted Jose on the back. “Thanks, buddy. Are you feeling any better now?”

  He nodded. “A little bit.”

  I got up and went to the sink in Jose’s bathroom. I filled a glass with cool water, then soaked a washcloth and wrung it out. When I walked back to Jose’s bed, he was breathing almost normally. His dream notebook rested in his lap, and he was writing furiously.

  Good. Recording that nightmare would help him process the terror.

  I handed Jose the water and he gulped it down. Then, I gave him the cool washcloth so he could wipe the sweat from his face.

  “Thanks, bro,” he said, beaming up at me. That angelic smile was steady again. He was going to be okay.

  But was I? The admiration in his eyes filled me with a sickening guilt. I didn’t deserve to have an innocent spirit like Jose gaze up at me like that. I wasn’t worthy of being this kid’s hero, or even his adored big brother. Not with the bodies that lay in my past.

  “Any time, Jose,” I said. “I’m here for you whenever you need me. Now, I need to throw some pants on and get out of here.”

  “Are you going to save the guy from my dream? And destroy that woman?”

  “You’d better believe it,” I said, wishing I felt half as confident as I sounded.

  Imogen, oh, Imogen. If only I’d killed you when I had the chance.

  The first time I met the woman in Jose’s dream, she was playing drums at a dive bar on the South Side. The name of the band was Vamp-O-Rama, and they were taking the punk music scene by storm. They were known as the hottest all-girl band in the city. Only a few of us knew that all of those musicians were really vampires.

  I offered to buy Imogen a drink after the first set. She asked for a double shot of Smirnoff, downed the clear fluid in one gulp, then demanded another. I’ve rarely found myself mute in front of a woman, but Imogen knocked the words right out of my mouth. Well over six feet tall even without those high-heeled boots, she had a devastating figure and a face like a Viking goddess. Her hair was pure punk, spiked like a bush of white thorns. A little too butch for my tastes, but I was open to new experiences.

  I bought Imogen a second drink, which she promptly drained. She held out the glass with a haughty sniff, as if I was just another busboy.

  I wanted her. Oh, how I wanted her.

  “Time for the next set,” she said. “Thanks for the refill.” She turned on her high heels and started to walk back to the stage. Mesmerized by the sway of her broad ass, I assumed I’d never see her again.

  Then, she turned. “Meet me by the back door when the bar closes.”

  My head bobbed up and down. I still couldn’t speak, but I was happy to be Imogen’s back door man.

  Imogen knew how to bang the drums, and she applied those percussion skills to me when we got together after the gig. We were already tearing off each other’s clothes as we climbed the narrow stairs to the room she rented above the dive bar. By the time she unlocked her door, we were both naked.

  She fell on top of me, her fingernails raking down my chest. Her spiked blonde hair glowed in the light from the streetlamp outside her window, and her pale eyes glittered with hunger. I was hungry for her, too, but I didn’t want to start off with a feeding.

  I wanted to fuck her first.

  And fuck we did, until the streetlamp went dim and the morning sun took over. That’s when I found out what Imogen was.

  “Shit!” she cried. A red streak had formed on the snow-white skin of her arm. Within seconds, the streak was sizzling, releasing an odor as foul as the devil’s flatulence. She tore herself out of my arms and ran to the window, shielding her face with her arm. She pulled down a blackout curtain, then fell against the
wall. Her generous breasts heaved as she tried to catch her breath. She clutched her wounded arm, which was still smoking.

  It was a bad burn. The kind that only real vamps got to experience.

  “How the hell did I forget to pull the curtains?” she gasped.

  “Maybe it’s because we were fucking like rabbits when the sun came up?” I laughed and sat up on my elbow. I had a pretty bad burn, too, only it came from the rug. Imogen had ridden me hard. The sight of her standing naked by the window, her eyes wide with panic, made me almost feel sorry for her.

  “You’ll survive,” I said. “I’ve gotten a few bad sunburns myself.”

  Imogen didn’t like my tone, apparently. Her pale blue eyes went black. Dilated pupils on a vampire are never a good sign, unless of course, you’re in the mood to get exsanguinated. She hissed, baring the longest pair of fangs that I’d ever seen on a female. Then she rushed at me, brandishing those nails.

  I put up my hand and grabbed her by the wrist before she could jump me.

  “Not so fast. You might think I’m just another blood donor, but I’m not. I’m one of you.”

  Frozen in mid-attack, she stared at me. “No way,” she sneered.

  “Oh, yes. I’m only half vampire, but that’s the stronger half by far. I could suck you dry before you could say ‘dental floss.’”

  I flashed her my fangs. Then I pulled Imogen down to the floor, flipped her onto her back, and sank those fangs into her firm white neck. Damn, she was a good feed. I went for the artery, not the vein; it had been a while since I drank my fill, and I wanted to feel some decent pressure. Her long, sinewy legs twisted under mine, then she moaned and went limp. Her eyelids fluttered.

  I drank just enough to leave Imogen unconscious. Then, I got off the floor and looked around the room. I’d been so drunk the night before—both on whiskey and on Imogen—that I’d forgotten our striptease on the staircase. I opened the door and found my pants, shirt, and trench coat strewn about the grimy stairs.

  I smiled. You know it’s been a good night when you forget where you left your clothes.

  Apparently, Imogen hadn’t learned the lesson I’d tried to teach her in the few weeks of our alleged “relationship.” Each time we met for one of our booty calls, she attempted to ravish me. Each time I left her in a haze of post-orgasmic bliss and blood loss.

  I wasn’t a total cad with Imogen; I did allow her a few sips from my jugular vein. But I knew that if I let her truly tap me, she wouldn’t hesitate to suck me dry. Word on the street, at least on the streets frequented by vampires and other supernatural beings, was that Imogen and the other girls in her punk band were ruthless killers.

  Vamp-O-Rama was just a front for picking up lonely men, women, and even a few runaway teenagers, all of whom were left pale and bloodless in the river. The cops had been going crazy looking for a prolific human serial killer, never realizing that they were dealing with something far more dangerous.

  The digital billboard clock hung on the wall of an old meat processing plant about a block away from one of the bars I used to frequent with Imogen. Her legs and her libido might be endless, but she was definitely short on imagination. She was still hunting in the same bars in the same run-down neighborhood, hitting on the same lonely guys. I was amazed that she hadn’t been picked up by a fallen angel, if not a homicide detective.

  Right now, the green numbers, exactly what Jose had seen in his dream, on that clock read 01:45. Last call would have sounded already, and Imogen’s victim would have bought her one last drink. Those legs of Imogen’s truly were hollow. After our first encounter, I never drank alcohol around her again. She could easily drink me under the table.

  Even though it was fifteen minutes to closing, the bar was still packed. The crowd stood shoulder to shoulder, everyone oblivious to the fact that they would soon need to find somewhere else to party.

  It didn’t take me long to find Imogen and her mark. They were sitting in a booth at the back of the bar. Her legs were draped over his lap and her head was thrown back in a sultry burst of laughter. He looked giddy with disbelief at the fact that he was going back to this babe’s apartment soon.

  Poor schmuck. I’m about to ruin his night, but at least I’m going to save his neck.

  I decided it was best to let them wrap up their foreplay in the booth and leave the bar together before I intervened. If I approached them now, the guy would assume I was a jealous ex and would try to fight me. Then, I’d have to break his nose in order to rescue him from Imogen, and he might end up leaving with the vampire anyway.

  I sat in a corner of the bar, watching the happy couple as I nursed a glass of tomato juice. Heck, it wasn’t my beverage of choice, but at least it was red. When the bartender finally shouted out that it was closing time, I let the disgruntled crowd file out of the bar first. I knew that Imogen and her new beau would be trapped back there until everyone else left, and I was more than happy to follow them out last.

  With her usual flair, Imogen sashayed across the bar. Her victim was draped across her shoulder as she half-carried him out the door. His eyes were glazed, and he looked a little green at the gills. Even if Imogen had intended to have sex with him, he probably wouldn’t have been capable of the deed at that point. He was either going to puke or pass out before they made it to second base.

  He ended up doing both on the sidewalk about six feet away from the awning over the bar. Imogen stood back and watched him hurl as he leaned against a brick wall. He then sank to his knees, keeled over, and lost consciousness.

  She should learn how to hold back on the booze around these guys if she wants to get laid.

  On the other hand, getting laid was probably the last thing on her mind. In fact, she might have even spiked the guy’s drink with a roofie just to make her job more manageable.

  Imogen looked around. The streets were clearing out quickly now that the bars were closed. She straddled the poor dude with her legs, flashing him a paradise that he would never get to see. Then she picked him up, heaved him over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and headed down the sidewalk. Even if anyone had witnessed it, they would assume that Imogen was just helping a drunk get home.

  She stole another look over her shoulder before she ducked into the darkness of the alley. I stood back, letting her disappear into the shadows with her prey. I didn’t want to have to kill her in that foul space, which would be sticky with who-knows-what substances and littered with condoms and rat droppings. But I’d rather be revolted by my surroundings than get caught in the act of killing another vampire.

  Vamp-on-vamp violence is never pretty.

  Imogen lay the man down on the ground. Her back was turned to me, but I could see her rib cage rising and falling rapidly in rhythm with her ecstatic breath. She was about to feed, with the added bonus of about ten cocktails singing through his blood. She knelt over her victim and was just about to sink her fangs into his throat when I stepped into the ring.

  “Hello, Imogen. Fancy meeting you here.”

  She dropped her victim’s head as she wheeled around. His skull hit the concrete with a sickening thump, but he wouldn’t know what hit him till he woke up with a goose-egg in the morning.

  And I was determined that he would wake up.

  I was relieved that Imogen’s dinner was too blitzed to see what was happening. He might have been a belligerent drunk intent on playing the hero, with Imogen as his damsel in distress. Then I would have had to kill him, too. I didn’t want to hurt him, if only for Jose’s sake, but I wasn’t going to sacrifice my identity for the sake of one horny human.

  Imogen bared her fangs and hissed at me, her tongue flicking like a serpent straight out of hell.

  “It’s my birthright to feed,” she growled in a voice so deep and gravelly that I wondered if she’d been possessed by a succubus on one of her recent adventures. Either that or she had a bad chest cold. “You have no right to stop me.”

  “Of course I do. Vampires do have the right
to feed, but the honorable ones drink from consenting humans. Or at least partially consenting humans.”

  My mind flickered briefly back to Georgia and the red rivulet seeping from the gash on her breast. I hadn’t asked her permission to taste her blood, but if I’d had any integrity, I would have.

  Imogen’s mocking laughter chilled me to the bone. She had always had a raucous, sexy laugh, but she had never sounded this much like a psychotic jackal. She had definitely had a run-in with a succubus, and the demon was using her body to the fullest.

  “Honorable,” she spat. “What happened to you, Carter? When did you get so high and mighty? You must have lost your balls and joined the priesthood.”

  She rose to her full height, then higher, levitating off the ground.

  Shit. I’d never seen Imogen levitate. The demon who was possessing her must have given her new powers.

  All of a sudden, it occurred to me that I had no idea what I was dealing with. I closed my eyes and summoned up the image of Jose sobbing into his hands, his thin shoulders shaking as he begged me to help the man from his dream. That gave me the guts to face off with the beast that Imogen was morphing into.

  Her spiked hair glowed like tongues of flame as she hovered in the red neon light of the street behind her. Her long body tilted till it was almost parallel to the ground. A terrible whoosh filled the alley as a pair of leathery wings snapped open on her back. She used those wings to stabilize herself in the air. Then she drew back, her talons extended, and shot down at me like a peregrine falcon.

  Time stopped.

  I reached into the pocket of my trench coat—praying to whatever divine being might still be willing to have anything to do with me that the blade was still there.

  My fingers curved around the shaft of rough iron. I hadn’t replaced it on the wall after I used it with Georgia. I pulled the ancient blade out of my pocket, held it aloft, and aimed its razor-sharp tip at Imogen’s left breast.

  The blade and the velocity of her plummeting body did all the work. All I had to do was let her impale herself.