by H. M Reilly
The Darkness Within
H.M Reilly
Copyright © 2020 H.M Reilly
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher except for the use of quotations in a book review.
First ebook edition October 2020
Cover design by Kylie Sek of Cover Culture
For more, please visit www.hmreilly.com
For Joey,
who hasn’t stopped believing in me or my dreams.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my editor, Charlie, who helped clear out the foggy moments from the world of Hollow’s Creek, that were hiding in the shadows. And Joey, who encouraged me even when I was ready to give up. Those weekend breakfasts still make my day.
Without them this book wouldn’t have seen the light outside my computer screen.
Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
prologue
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
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
prologue
The Viper’s Cavern was one of the underground culture’s best-kept secrets catering specifically to the creatures of the supernatural. Most humans were not aware of its presence, but some found themselves entering through the front doors. Yet they left with just as little knowledge of the supernatural as they had before. Even if a human’s mind was strong enough to overpower the mind-controlling influence of the club, the club was well hidden and protected from harm in more than one way.
Patrick cut his gaze across the room when a young man wearing a faded black duster and a shifty gaze walked through the front door. His face quickly darkened as the young man descended the stairs. He knew in an instant this man was no ordinary human. This was another witch hunter or whatever they called themselves these days. Patrick’s mood could easily be seen by his eyes, which suddenly went from amber to black.
Patrick overlooked many things in his bar, but he never tolerated careless actions or people who put the club and their underground culture at risk. There was enjoying oneself, and then there was being foolish enough to bring unwanted attention to his front step. This witch hunter, who still smelt of spilled blood, was something he could not overlook, and he wasn’t the only one who took notice. Any being with even the slightest supernatural influence running through their veins felt the unfriendly aura of the witch hunter as he stalked across the room.
Patrick rose from his seat and snarled. He met Lana’s violet eyes as she watched the crowd from behind the bar, filling glasses. He made his way to the far corner of the bar, finishing off the last of the whiskey that swirled in his glass. The calm, upbeat mood of the club could turn violent quickly, and the less aware everyone was of the witch hunter, the longer things could stay what could be considered calm in a supernatural nightclub.
The disc jockey continued even through Patrick knew he was aware of the witch hunter, too. The music shifted from something fast and upbeat into an eerie, dark beat that flowed through the crowds with sexual undertones that were hard to deny, encouraging the patrons to lose themselves among the pulsing rhythms. On the dancefloor, grinding movements became more sensual and seductive.
Patrick’s gaze followed the hunter as he slithered his way through the crowd. His eyes flashed blood red briefly as his demonic side began to skim dangerously across the surface—a side he rarely let loose nonetheless in the middle of a crowd with humans present. The closer the hunter got to the bar, the more Patrick could feel the monster within taking hold.
“Let me get a beer, babe,” the witch hunter said as he stepped up to the bar. Lana quirked an eyebrow at the innocent pet name. “Domestic.”
Without a single word, Lana reached beneath the bar to grab a clean beer mug. She pulled the tap and filled it, professional as always. She set it down on the bar and offered the hunter a quick smile before turning to step away to tend to her other customers.
Patrick’s focus stayed locked on the hunter as he lingered near the bar. He couldn’t help but notice the hunter’s shifty gaze searching the small crowd around the bar. The hunter took a drink of his beer and casually made his way towards the dance floor where everyone seemed to be lost in their own world. Patrick left his empty glass on the back shelf in exchange for a bottle of whiskey, snatching it from underneath the counter.
Lana moved out of Patrick’s way as he slipped behind her. Her violet eyes narrowed, and she whispered in a preternatural voice nobody around them could hear. “What are you going to do, Patrick?”
“I guess we’ll just have to see now, won’t we?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the vibrations of the music that floated in the air. He made his way past her and stalked across the room as the music pumped from the speakers, eyes on the young hunter. He could feel the strong urges deep inside of him stir to life.
He brought the bottle to his lips and took a long drink of whiskey, the corner of his lips curling up into a wicked grin as his mind hatched a thought. He made his way towards the dance floor with his attention focused solely on the witch hunter and his damn beer.
Patrick stalked through the crowd, slithering against the grinding, gyrating, sweaty bodies that moved around him. The scent of alcohol and lust filled his senses as he brought the bottle of whiskey to his lips for another drink. His eyes flashed that dark red, but it disappeared almost as quickly.
The disc jockey put on a light show, and it swept across the scantily clad woman and the men searching for attention as the musky smell of lust rose into the air. Patrick was anything but oblivious to those around him. The scent of lust grew thicker, tickling at his senses, too much for an incubus such as he to ignore, and he took another drink of whiskey. Thankfully, the darkness within him was still being fueled by his anger.
He could feel the alcohol flow over his tongue and down his throat as he worked at keeping his focus on the dark-haired hunter only a few feet away from him. He placed the empty bottle on a nearby table.
He lunged forward in a quick movement and pulled the hunter towards him, grasping a handful of his hair. Patrick’s lips curled up into a malicious snarl. The mug fell from the hunter’s hand, shattering. Beer spilled across the surface of the dance floor. A growl rumbled deep within Patrick’s chest as he lifted his other hand to the man’s throat, holding a large knife.
“Not so smart for a hunter,” Patrick said. A growl erupted from him as he pulled harder on the hunter’s hair, and his face distorted into something less human as he dug the blade of his knife into the tender flesh of the hunter’s neck. The metallic scent of blood rose into the air is it began to bead over the edge of the blade. That blood-red anger flashed rapidly in Patrick’s eyes, almost glowing. “You have nothing on me, mother fucker.”
“That’s what you think, bloodsucker,” the hunter growled from behind tightened lips the blade pressed firmly against his neck. The blood flowed in a line against the silver of the blade. Vampires from the crowd hovered in anticipation as the scent of blood rose in
the air, now flowing freely over the blade in Patrick’s hand. Patrick tightened his grip, fisting the hunter’s hair with a deep growl, a wicked laugh emitting past his lips.
“I am no vampire, stupid human.”
With a clench of his fist, Patrick sliced open the hunter’s neck, blood gushing from the wound that left him gasping for air. The vampires surrounding the pair were growling and salivating as the blood pooled onto the floor. Patrick let the hunter simply drop from his grasp and slipped his blade back into his boot.
Music pulsated through the room, pumping heavily and feeding the dark energy of the club. The vampires dived to taste the hunter as he lay there dying.
CHAPTER 1
It was a clear, quiet night with the full moon hanging high in the sky. A car or two passed Charlotte, her old truck climbing the mountainous highway driving north from Santa Fe into Colorado. A few hours and she would be home. Music floated from the stereo, calming the thoughts still buzzing in her mind.
A few days had passed since her appointment at the doctor’s. The cuts on her left hand were healing well, still red after the stitches were removed. Scars would be visible, the doctor told her. A constant reminder of that night Julian tossed her across the living room and into a mirror. She counted herself grateful there were no broken bones in her hand. The sting of tears filled her amber eyes, and she lifted a hand to wipe them away before leaning over to turn up her music.
Clouds floated across the mountain peaks ahead, farther north into Colorado. A brief sprinkle of rain splattered across the windshield as she entered the town of Sequoia, where her dad lived, only a fifteen-minute drive north from Durango. She reached over to crack the window, letting the cool, fresh air in.
The tree in her dad’s front yard was heavy with leaves, but the first signs of fall had already started to show at the edges. A gentle breeze slipped through the air, rain sprinkling from the clouds, and a couple leaves danced to the ground. She pulled her hood on as she walked up to the house, a pet carrier in one hand. Loud meows burst from the carrier as she rushed across the yard and into the house.
She peeked into the living room to find images flashing across the television screen and her dad asleep in his old recliner. He clutched the remote in his hand. After setting the pet carrier aside, she stepped over and grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch to cover him. Commercials suddenly broke to a familiar scene in a minimally decorated New York apartment with a man eating from a bowl of cereal. A smile appeared on her face as she reminisced back to the time as a kid when she would join her dad to watch his favorite sitcom. Some things never changed. She grabbed the remote and shut off the television, waking her dad. “Leila?”
“No, Dad, it's me. I'm home.”
“Charlie,” he said with a sleepy smile on his face. “Okay. I'm going to bed.”
“Okay, Dad,” She said. Her dad rose from his chair with a stumble as she went to pick up Jack, meowing in his carrier. He continued even as she made her way up the stairs to her dad's study, shutting the door behind her. She set the pet carrier aside and opened the door, filling a water dish from the bottle in her bag as a sleek black feline stepped out to explore. “C’mon out, Jack.”
A couple of bookcases stood in the far corner beside a small unvarnished desk. The hide abed at the opposite side had been pulled out from the couch complete with blankets, pillows, and an old purple quilt. She recognized the old quilt sitting on the bed, made by her grandmother many years ago.
She sat on the edge of the bed and reached into her purse for her cell phone to find a couple unread text messages. Her two best friends, Adriana and Rob, had texted, checking in to see where she and Jack were. She sent a quick message back, letting them know that she and Jack had made it safely to Colorado. The ride had been long, but she made it to her dad’s house.
Charlotte took off her shoes and laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as she listened to the wind whistling through the trees and the rain falling on the tin roof. Charlotte had started to doze off to sleep when Jack leaped up on to the bed to lay down beside her. She lifted the covers over her and Jack.
As she rested her head against the pillows again, she recognized the smell of her ex-boyfriend’s cologne. Charlotte and Julian had known each other for years. They had been close friends since high school, and when they started dating nearly three years ago, it made sense to everyone they knew. She still couldn’t understand how things had ended the way they did, but she remembered how Julian had grown distant the last several months of their relationship. At first, she believed his distance was only him spending more time out of the apartment and in the studio with his band.
She had always been supportive, but something had changed, and she couldn't pinpoint what. Everything else had been fine. At least, so she thought. She came home from work at the diner one day to find him in their bed with a young, homely college girl. As the girl slinked away, tempers erupted into a fight that became physical. The bruise on Charlotte's cheek had faded significantly, but the heartache remained all the way to Colorado. She closed her amber eyes, fighting off tears welling in her eyes. Before long, she gave in to restless sleep.
She rose the next morning to feed Jack his breakfast and then wandered off to the bathroom. Since the house was still quiet, she left the door open. Jack joined her a moment later, jumping onto the counter with a chirp. Charlotte looked at herself in the mirror, tucking her long, dark hair behind her ear. She examined the light bruise still visible on her cheek, but the swelling had finally gone down completely. Despite the visible blemish, she would no longer need several layers of foundation to hide behind, preventing any questions that may come up.
The scent of bacon frying in the kitchen wafted through the air as she headed down the stairs. She heard the stove click, and when she turned into the kitchen, she found her dad standing over a tray full of bacon and pancakes. He carried the tray over to the dining table where a small plate of butter and a syrup dispenser already sat waiting. "Morning, Dad."
"Morning, sweetheart," he said. He ran a hand over his mop of dirty blond hair, stepping away from the table and shuffling his feet across the floor. He wore a pair of old puppy dog slippers that Charlotte had given him when she was still a kid. "Did you want something to drink? Orange juice or milk?"
"I'll get it, Dad. Where's Leila and mom?"
"There should be some clean glasses in the dishwasher. I think the orange juice and milk are on the fridge door,” he said. “Leila stayed over at a friend’s house last night. And your mom should be down soon."
Charlotte stepped over to the dishwasher and pulled out a glass, still warm from the drying cycle, and took it to the fridge. A pair of heels came down the hall as she poured herself a glass of milk. Her mom stepped through the doorway and headed straight for the dining table, having a seat.
"Did you sleep okay on the pull-out bed?" her dad asked.
"Yeah.”
“Charlotte. When did you get in?”
“It was like midnight,” she said. Charlotte put the milk carton back and shut the fridge, glancing over her shoulder toward her mom. She stepped over to the dining table and had a seat.
“That’s nice,” she said. Charlotte watched her mom with a narrowed gaze as she reached for the tray of pancakes in the middle of the table.
Charlotte and Rachel had never been close, even when Charlotte was still a child. At the age of nine, Rachel's parents were in town for her younger sister's second birthday party, and a young Charlotte had asked why she didn't get such a big party for her birthday. She learned Rachel wasn’t her real mother, and her dad was actually her uncle. Neither of her biological parents were around; Charlotte’s real mother died before she even took her first breath. As a young girl, she didn’t know how to process what she learned, but she resented Rachel for treating her less than she deserved. She despised her for not being the mother she needed.
Rachel waited to grab a few strips of bacon. She kept her eyes lowered, h
er voice flat as she spoke. “Any plans for today?”
“Nothing much. Just bring in my things from my truck. Think you could help, Dad?”
“Yeah. Of course,” he said.
“Thank you,” Charlotte said as she took a bite of her pancakes. “It’s not a whole lot, but I should probably move it inside.”
“How long do you plan on staying?” Rachel asked. She lifted her eyes in Charlotte’s direction without an ounce of expression on her face. Charlotte took a drink of her milk and shrugged her shoulders, keeping her eyes lowered. The last thing she wanted to do was argue with her about something she didn’t even know the answer to.
The three of them sat quietly as they finished their breakfast together, and Rachel disappeared once the dishes had been cleared from the table. Charlotte stayed to help her dad rinse the dishes and place them in the dishwasher to wash later. Afterward, they headed outside to the truck.
“You’re gonna be staying awhile?” he said. He took his time untying the cargo ropes holding the boxes down, and then pulled down the tailgate to start unloading the truck. Charlotte took as many boxes as she could and set them down in the driveway, but there were several she couldn’t lift alone. Back in Santa Fe, she had her friends, Rob and Adriana, to help load everything.