Brian stared at the floor. “Took one yesterday—”
“Better take another. Looks like you got too much sun.”
“Not happening. I’d be dipping into your supply.”
The sacrifices her brother made on her behalf burdened her with guilt. Their survival now depended on the recovery of the journal to replenish the diminishing supply of anti-vamp pills. Brian’s decision to ration their reserve had already taxed his system. He sacrificed his share out of brotherly devotion, aware the idea of becoming a monster scared her. Had they become vampires, Doctor Frankenstein’s creatures, or mutations of both? Brian had mentioned aliens, but she slapped that ridiculous notion out of his mind.
He sat next to her and placed a hand on her knee. A shroud of remorse washed over him the second she scooted away like an opposing magnet. She spied his pout, probably curious if the fits of madness or his fangs repulsed her more. The fangs. It had to be them. She hated hers and any abnormality that reminded her of the freakish creatures they had become.
Her brother slouched forward with his hands clasped. “We should head to Pop’s ranch tomorrow. Better repack.”
“Estate,” Ariane corrected him. “Dad’s property is more like a mansion. I never bothered to check if anyone is taking care of the place since the funeral.” The wavy hair framing her brother’s subtle complexion made her wonder if they inherited their dark hair and exotic features from their mother. Yet, neither twin remembered ever having one, and Duncan resembled a plump leprechaun with red hair and freckles.
“Until the will is deemed valid, some of his employees remain in service. Pop’s butler and several servants still live there.” He paused, his brow wrinkling in reaction to her frown. “Either way, we have a key and the right to stay there.”
A key Ariane wished she misplaced months ago. “Maybe we should sell it. We could sure use the cash.”
4
GOT BLOOD
W hile Ariane and a mob of customers clamored for the half-off sales, I hurried to the nearest exit to escape the claustrophobic shop. Before I stepped into the blinding sun, I put on my sunglasses. A cool breeze filled my lungs, purging me of the heavy perfumes also on sale. The clothing had to be stocked for more than one season. Too much stuff piled up high.
Outside, a few early morning shoppers strolled by on Princess Street. I wandered to the outdoor café next door and paused. An alarm rang inside my mind, no volume, just a sharp warning that danger lurked nearby. Certain dread chilled my limbs. My back stiffened when I recalled the last time the creepy predator stalked me—the morning the ghost visited a few days before our flight. I shook the heebie-jeebies aside and peered around the podium at the empty tables and seats. The feeling faded, replaced by a horde of humanity.
The spooky phenomena crushed my will to go on. Would I ever find out what the ghost wanted? I turned toward the exit and caught sight of a familiar reflection off the tinted glass. I spun around and focused on the lone man who stood across the street. Concealed behind dark shades and a Panama hat, he looked a lot like the phantom vampire. I cocked my head and kept an eye on him long enough to realize the man was staring back. Not good.
The blond tipped his hat, twirled around, and disappeared into a crowd of people who got off an open-roofed tour bus. The ghost! I could see the top of his hat bouncing like a fisherman’s buoy in the wave of tourists.
Definitely not a tourist, something seemed off; the conspicuous man troubled me, as if he wore the quirky hat to lure me in. A quick glance at the shop, followed by a whispered curse, I’d ditch Ariane before the straw hat got away. After all, I came to Scotland to confront the ghost. I vaulted over the railing and landed two-footed on the sidewalk without disturbing the pigeons. Up ahead, the odd hat bobbed above the crowd. I weaved through the tourists in pursuit.
3 3 3
Ahead, Sabree skidded to a stop before he slipped into a connecting alley. Certain Brian was behind him, the time had come to separate his prey from the masses. Sabree skirted around the tourists in search of a few shops off the beaten path. Beyond them, his stride quickened until he tucked into a small alcove. He hugged the wall and craned his neck to peer around the corner.
“I have something for you, mon ami.” He readied the elaborate claw-like ring on his index finger. The needle affixed to the tip of the claw emptied into a vacuumed vial hidden inside. Sabree wore the device to collect Brian’s blood without exposing it to the atmosphere. Prevent it from turning into dust.
He had volunteered for this task for two reasons: harass the ghoul and secure Wayde’s trust by swapping the samples; give Brian’s blood to his clan and hand over a sample of his own blood to Wayde. While impersonated as Zanyael, he could think of no better way to outwit the foolish human and the DanJal clan together.
Propped against the wall, Sabree tensed. Brian’s noisy approach announced to the world that he was anything but discreet. The challenge of luring him in public outweighed the risk.
3 3 3
The boater hat vanished. I paused to scout the path ahead. The empty alley and adjoining street showed no sign of the man or his hat. I cursed myself for losing him. Behind me, the way I had come was now the long way back. If memory served, the road at the end of the alley also led to the shops. I kicked an empty box into a small alcove. Bloody hell.
“Got Blood?”
The sinister voice and alarming sensation enclosed me all at once. Before I grabbed the ghost, something jabbed my neck. Two needles stabbed me at once. One injected a warm liquid into my vein while the other sucked on it like a mini vacuum. An overall wooziness made my head swim. I body slammed face-first into a wall. My hands shot out to catch my balance.
Several gasps filled my lungs as I leaned into the building. It all happened so fast. Where’d the man with the hat go? I sucked in a deep breath and glanced up and down the alley. The phantom menace vanished again.
My shoe stubbed something underfoot. The hat. I stomped on it until my sneakers mashed the straw into the cobblestone. Only then did I kick it aside. Unlike before, the ghost showed his face in broad daylight. The bastard pricked my neck. It had to be him, because only he could vanish so quickly.
As I made my way back to the shop, my mind raced with excuses for my absence. The only way I could come out of this unscathed was to fabricate an alibi other than chasing ghosts. Tell Ariane a white lie about how I wandered off to pick up souvenirs for her lab techs, Jesse Rivers and Eric Tripper. Speaking of which, she had a crush on Eric, but Jesse would’ve been a safer bet.
Near the dress shop, I stopped at a window display that advertised Scottish tams marked down. The techs would look great in them. Maybe replace the wool scully cap I lost on the crags.
3 3 3
The silence hung heavy between us on the drive to the mansion. I cringed when Ariane whispered a few indistinct curses under her breath. Wished she’d get over the loathing she harbored for our father’s estate. Something about this place made her skin crawl. The dread of things past still haunted her. The dreariness aside, we should give the mansion a second chance. I always believed Pop built the place with us in mind.
“I hate this place.”
“I know.”
She crossed her arms and slumped low in the passenger seat when the estate came into view.
After I parked the rental in front of the stone four-car garage, she got out and stared at the manor. She tilted her head to steal a glance my way. The pressure behind her irises must’ve burned, the rims redder than usual.
The fieldstone walls offset by gray siding matched my sister’s mood—cold and distant. I didn’t blame her. The dark picture windows against the pale slate reminded me of the sunken eyes of a corpse. She never felt welcomed or at ease here, although everyone claimed we had grown up in the manor. In my opinion, the modern estate mocked me, out of place on the outskirts of the age-old city.
Ariane shuddered all over when the trunk slammed shut.
She seemed jumpier than usua
l. “Get the door.” I juggled two suitcases along with my carry-on. “In case the caretaker changed the code.” Somehow between the juggling, I managed to toss her the key.
With only shopping bags and her carry-on to contend with, Ariane slid the key into the lock. Her back stiffened when the whir of the electronic deadbolt clunked to the unlock position. She released a sigh loud enough for me to hear.
I released one also, relieved the butler who usually lurked in the lobby had other business.
Once inside, Ariane and I stepped through the foyer into the great room with its vast cathedral ceiling of geometric patterned skylights. The marble stairway to the right, traversed upward opposite the large hall. Painted light gray and trimmed with brushed stainless, the walls reflected the interior illumination, creating the illusion of vast space. Similarly, the white marble floor mirrored the chrome candelabra hanging dead center in the huge room. From its hub, thin rods resembling starbursts sprung outward. A round bulb shone brightly at the tip of each rod.
Unlike the exterior, the spacious interior refueled her spirit when she entered the grand room. Her smile said it all. We both favored the brighter space. The rest of the house, despite its modern decor, adopted a colder, darker ambiance. Melancholy had shrouded the estate since Duncan’s memorial service.
“Welcome, Master and Mistress Colton,” Dougal said.
The gaunt, elderly man dressed in a dismal gray suit entered the room. Close to my six-foot stature, he appeared taller because white tufts of hair sweeping off his forehead added inches to his height. His familiar voice grated on my nerves, causing a spasm between my shoulder blades. The butler had been Duncan’s manservant for twenty-five years.
I smirked, immune to the curt welcome. “Sorry, we’re late, shopping took us longer than expected.”
“Not my fault,” Ariane snapped. “You’re the one who had to run after a ghost.”
“Never said anything about a ghost.”
“You didn’t have to. The ugly plaid tams you bought said it all.”
True, the jittery performance I gave said it all, showing off the souvenirs like they were the buy of the century.
Dougal shook his head and stood erect, chest puffed outward, ready to show us to our rooms. “May I take your luggage?”
“Take hers,” I said, pointing at her shopping bags and luggage piled by the door. “I’m all set.” My suitcase and carry-on were already in hand.
“Good then, Master Colton.” Dougal grabbed everything except her purse. “Please follow me.” He led us upstairs and showed Ariane to her old room first. My door was across hers.
“The cook is preparing prime rib for dinner.”
“Perfect, make mine rare.”
Dougal ignored me. “And yours?” he asked Ariane.
“Medium rare, please.”
“As you wish,” he said, entering her room to set the luggage by the bed. My lamebrain notion that claimed our father might be alive and secretly living in the mansion held little merit. After all, a provision in his last will and testament kept most of the staff employed full-time to take care of the house and the grounds. Maybe for us, not him. As soon as Ariane closed her bedroom door, the butler headed downstairs. So much for the warm welcoming.
Following an uneventful dinner of charred prime rib, I turned in for the night. The leathery meat hunkered in my gut like a bowling ball. Dougal made certain the chef overcooked my portion. Ariane’s thick slice was juicy and pink when she cut into it. Dougal never liked me. Maybe I should have reminded him of my darker side, except I’d only earn the man’s disgust rather than respect. No doubt, he already knew how dark I could become.
I let myself sink into the goose-feathered mattress to relax. The old bedroom filled me with a calming warmth, safe enough to release some of the tension. Memories of sleeping here many a night endured like the resilient metal and glass bedroom set that still furnished the room. On the headboard and footboard, stainless trim edged the rectangular slab of black marble. A matching bureau, a set of nightstands, and a flat screen TV attached to the wall complemented the modern decor.
Exactly as I remembered it, the room was unadorned and sterile—no, not sterile, downright bare. It lacked the usual mementos or possessions I might’ve collected over the years. In fact, only a few generic items embellished the room: a couple of books placed haphazardly on the bookcase and a framed photo of Pop on the bureau. Propped beside it, the photo of Ariane with hair falling below her shoulders warmed me. These days, she smiled without exposing her pearly whites, worried the long pointy fangs might pop out.
Everything in the bedroom looked staged, even the photos. I shook my head. Had this room really been mine since childhood? The weirdest detail—Ariane’s room mirrored mine. Not even decorated with girly pink or frilly lace. I made a mental note to ask her about it. As my eyes closed, I drifted into a fitful sleep. My body tumbled through a revolving wormhole until it spit me out.
A thick crimson soup splashed below me. The blood sea. My heart pounded as I stared at the dark murky crests off in the horizon. Then I glanced below, waiting for the typical nightmarish events to begin. The wait short, my throat tightened when the first swell of body parts bobbed like buoys in the waves. A mangled hand, its arm torn from the shoulder, reached for my leg in an attempt to pull me under.
I trembled from head to foot as loss, grief, and utter despair racked my body, weakening my desire to escape. When the arm grabbed hold of my ankle, my desire returned. I kicked the limb away, splattering the sea of blood, and shot off into the night sky. Cries for my death called out below me, diminishing as I flew into the darkness above. Thunder drowned the faintest of the pleas. A bright light smothered me.
Gasping for breath, almost choking, I bolted upright in bed. My lungs heaved as if I had fallen out of a suffocating vacuum. Why did I dream about the blood sea and mangled bodies so often? I wiped the glistening sweat that clung to my bare skin and pajama bottoms. A bright light shot across the sheets. Blood tainted my sweat. My whispered curses filled the quiet room as I patted my torso for signs of injury. The dream couldn’t be real. I wouldn’t let it.
Another streak of lightning flashed, reflecting off the mirror that hung opposite the only window. I counted, “One, one thousand; two, one thousand,” awaiting the sound of thunder, calculating it to be only two miles away. Rain pelted the glass. Another bolt lit the room long enough to reveal a ghostly figure floating in front of the door. Thunder clapped. I yelped, forgetting my bloodied state, and turned on the lamp atop the nightstand. It almost toppled over. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. No ghost, no monsters, the room was empty.
To make sure, I examined the floor for an octopus-type monster just in case it hitched a ride back from my nightmare. I felt like such a child for even looking. What adult did that? Frustrated more than frightened, I rolled out of bed without taking my eyes off the door. Every shadow fluttered and moved in sync with my heightened breaths. For once, I hoped the pale pest would pop in for a visit, arguably better than a monster from the ocean depths. “Show yourself.” I said boldly. “Why are you haunting me?”
I craved slumber yet refused sleep, too much going on. I rubbed my eyes, uncertain if I imagined the vision. Whoever snuck into my room might show up in Ariane’s next. Without catching a breath, I scrambled for the door to make sure she was safe.
Thunder rumbled, and a bolt flashed a second later, illuminating the room as if lightning shot through it. When the lamp flickered, something shimmered next to me. Before I jumped back, the ghostly apparition passed through me. An odd sensation engulfed my entire being. Icy blood coursed through my veins until my limbs grew heavy.
I spun around to face the empty wall, dashed for the door, and fell forward, landing on the floor in a belly flop. My fangs bit into my lower lip. Caramelly sweetness teased my tongue. Towered over me stood the pale figure in a long leather duster. The apparition smiled, making sure he flaunted his white fangs. I felt the
blood drain from my face, replaced by a veil of darkness.
5
NIGHT OF THE HUNTER
S abree hesitated as he knelt beside the unconscious ghoul. He made the right choice to investigate the mutated humans. So much promise if they were the original zygotes, not Duncan’s human children tainted with the zygotes’ DNA. His fingertips brushed the hair spilling over Brian’s face. The twins might be special, but they could also be dangerous. To what extent Sabree had no idea.
Traces of splattered blood on Brian’s pajama bottoms caught his eye. Sabree leaned over to sniff the stained fabric. Never smelled anything like it, neither ghoulish, human, nor animal blood. The Fallen’s blood turned to dust when exposed to air, one of the reasons why humans remained oblivious to their presence on Earth.
So, where did the strange blood come from? His eyes narrowed as he studied Brian. “Odd creature this Colton. Even so, I won’t let anyone destroy you,” Sabree said in a whispered voice. “That responsibility shall be mine alone.” Mist formed around him as he drifted to Ariane’s bedroom.
Sabree materialized by her bedside. Identical to her brother, only feminine and exquisite, she slept peacefully. His fingers caressed her cheek. Thankfully, he found no traces of the strange blood on her. “No one will harm either of you.”
The night still young, Sabree misted from the Colton estate to the lobby of McGregor Hills apartments. He overheard Wayde’s request to meet Dr. Chambers here tonight. Uninvited again, he hid behind one of four marble columns and watched Wayde pace in front of the reception desk.
“He’ll be right down, sir,” the clerk said with lips parting into a forced smile. She glanced at the intercom and buzzed again.
Amongst the Fallen Page 3