Beckoned: Born of Darkness (Book 1)

by R. B. Fields

  14

  Dawn

  The pediatrician isn’t hard to find; he’s the only one in the town. And as I scroll through the phone book, I realize just how isolated we are from the world. The tiny dot on the map should probably be no more than a pinprick — a smudge.

  The office isn’t far, within walking distance. I forgo the bikes.

  I regret it almost instantly.

  I run as the crow flies, following the line of rain-fed pastures, some flush with cattle, lumps of black and brown against the silvery fields. But I’m no vampire, and by the time I stride up the grassy walkway to the treelined standalone office, business hours are thirty minutes over. I’m panting, too, not going to lie. I’m in damn fine shape, but that whole fight-with-a-vampire thing yesterday probably took a little out of me. Or maybe it was all the sex. How many orgasms does it take to equal an hour of cardio?

  The building might have been a private residence at some point — red brick, bright red door, green shutters, and a thin wooden porch with a kid-sized rocking chair. There’s even a miniature jungle gym complete with a slide on a patch of wood chips to the right of the building, though the moonlight only glints off the metal outline — the monkey bars gleam as if they’re floating.

  But there’s still a car on the gravel parking pad: A little red Smart car that looks like it should be owned by a fucking clown. The license plate says “SILLY4U” which is equally ridiculous. Pediatricians. I know enough of them from the hospital, and they’re all goofy as hell.

  And there he is. He emerges from the building, locking the front door behind him … at least I think it’s him based on the giant red-framed glasses and scrubs the brilliant yellow of summer sun. He’s slight, not thin with a well-honed physique — the doctor appears as if he’s not had a solid meal in years. Kain said they’re here to help someone … Can they heal him? Do they think something’s going to happen to him? I should have asked more questions, but he ran out of there like someone lit his ass on fire, so I didn’t really have time.

  Maybe he’s not that thin anyway — maybe I’m projecting. I’m starving. Since they left the house, nausea has been creeping in my sour guts and forcing bile into my esophagus. I should have snatched up more than a banana on my way out. I crouch in the trees at the corner of the lot and wait. Why did I come here anyway? If they’re already helping this man, they don’t need me, but the thought of being useless, sitting around at the house like a fucking goon … Yeah, that’d be worse.

  The doctor is whistling as he crosses the lot, a tuneless nursery rhyme I almost remember. The light catches the gray in the hair at his temples. He’s wearing a dozen colorful bandages on one arm, some kind of cartoon characters, though I’m too far away to tell which ones. Superheroes maybe — fitting. I’ve never seen doctors more noble than the ones reading picture books to dying children.

  The doc drops his keys and as he stoops to grab them, my spine goes rigid. I worry for a moment that he might see me as he approaches his car, but the halo thrown by the porch lights doesn’t reach beyond the drive, and I can’t imagine that he’d bother peering into the woods. Besides, his eyes are locked on the stainless steel coffee mug in his hand. Smiling at it like coffee is his best friend in the world. That’s probably true for a lot of people.

  But something’s wrong — I know something’s wrong. My guts are twisted up like I swallowed a nest of briars. The air has gone still. Even the crickets freeze.

  And the shadows at the edge of the building … they’re moving. My breath is as silent as the cricket song.

  I see his hair first, long and soft and prettier than mine, a cascade of golden locks that reach his clavicle. His skin is the pale dewy complexion you’d see in an airbrushed photo, even on his exposed tree-trunk arms, though most of the flesh below his chin is covered in red ink — tattoos. Impossibly large, a beast, his white tank top straining to contain his barrel chest. Is this the man Kain and Silas are here to protect the doctor from? They better have brought their A-game. The doctor does not see the creature behind him — he’s facing me, heading for his car, the monster at his back.

  “Dr. Greene!” the big man calls. Oh shit. I recognize the voice from our trip here. Even without the helmet, I can hear the gravel in his tone, the rage sharp and bright, cutting the night like a blade. Markula.

  My heart shudders and stalls.

  The doctor stops whistling. He pauses at his car and plasters on a smile as fake as his armful of bandaged injuries. “Office hours start at nine,” he says, turning. When he sees Markula, he drops his mug to the drive, and it rolls beneath the car with a metallic ring like a series of angry bells.

  “Oh god. Oh god, what the fuck?” His voice has risen four octaves at least, echoing over the tinny rattle of urine against the gravel — he’s wet himself.

  Markula smiles. His mouth is out of place on such a gorgeous face which makes it all the more horrifying — every tooth protrudes from his lips in a savage point. I feel his growl in my bones, vibrating my marrow. And then the others are there too: Silas and Draynor emerge like ghosts from the shadow of the building, Kain behind them, his face still shrouded by the dim. But I can still see his teeth. I can see all their teeth.

  “Oh god,” the doctor says again, and this time, I whisper it back, right before Markula lunges.

  The screams start then, but they last only moments, and then the night is filled with a tearing sound like a dog ripping at a slab of meat. The side of the doctor’s car is covered in spray that can only be arterial blood. I don’t even register the others leaping for the doctor’s prone frame, but when I blink, they’re all there, four animals hunched over the body like a pack of wolves. I can almost hear howling. There’s a bloody pile of something behind Draynor’s black boots, the ones he wore when he fucked me, a long slippery tube of … intestines.

  A grinding snap hits my ear — a breaking bone. Then the moist sound of ripping starts again. The stainless mug clanks against the wheel as one of the doctor’s feet flails toward the car — his leg is no longer connected to his torso, his scrubs are no longer yellow — red, all red, the fabric stained a horrid crimson that looks almost black in the shadow of the car — in the shadows of four savage vampires.

  They weren’t here to help anyone. They came here to kill him.

  And they’ll kill me, too, I realize. They’ll kill me like they did my mother.

  I stand slowly, carefully, my legs shaking. I back away slowly.

  I run.

  Through the pastures.

  Alone.

  15

  Markula

  I remain crouching but raise my face to the night sky, chin sticky with blood — sweet and mildly astringent like a good wine, but heavy like cream. We do not have to hurry; we’ll be gone long before the police show up to question anyone about the missing pediatrician, and I’ve not had a meal this decadent in a long time. The others seem to agree — the sound of feeding scratches at the fabric of the night.

  I lick my lips and watch the back of Dawn’s head as she runs off, the slight cut of her shoulders, the flip of the skirt she so brazenly lifted for Draynor, the black boots that have molded themselves to her calves. The silk of her pale arm in the moonlight.

  The others cannot smell her, or hear her, or feel her. They feed. And though I am aware of her, my senses are not as they should be.

  When we entered the doctor’s property, I smelled more, tasted more on the breeze than I have at any point since she arrived. And I knew the moment she came near — suddenly I could not pick up the doctor’s scent. All I could smell was her.

  My assumptions were correct — she’s dangerous. She weakens me as she does the others.

  The flesh along my spine prickles.

  I draw myself to standing, nostrils flaring. She must be far enough away because I smell them then — others. More of our kind. I don’t know who they are, whether they are of Mikael’s brood, whether they have ill intents — I can’t hear them the way Silas
can, cannot sense the pull of emotion through their bodies as Draynor does. One does not need to do either of those things to stalk prey, and they all feel the same terror when they see me. As they should.

  But their thoughts are none of my concern. I don’t care if they’re afraid, I care if they’re a threat. And they’re not, not to us — they are not coming this way.

  They’re after her.

  And they’re here.

  16

  Dawn

  What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing?

  I let my guard down — I fucked up royally. I run through the pasture, the woods, another field, feeling loose and unsteady and wickedly nauseous. I can still smell the doctor’s blood as if I’d been on the ground beside him, as if I have arterial spray on my face, that slippery tube of intestine wrapped around my fingers.

  I emerge from the low boughs of the trees at the edge of the last pasture and stumble, my knees hitting the grass with a thunk that reverberates through my hips. I let the pain come, I let it flow through my body like water — I’ve been through worse, haven’t I? I pause, panting. Which way? I’ve always been good at directions, but every shadow and silver-stained blade of grass looks the same.

  I take a deep breath. My palms tingle. And when the breeze sighs from east to west, I know where I am. Thank goodness. But the relief is momentary — the branches in the woods are alive.

  I know that isn’t the case, yet it suddenly feels as if every leaf, every piece of soil is watching, whispering — waiting. I leap to my feet as another crack explodes through the night. It’s not in my head, it isn’t. And then …

  “She’s here — find her.”

  “I can smell her.”

  “This way.”

  Whispering. It’s not Silas, not Draynor — not even Markula. The timbre of their voices is more malicious. And I can feel their darkness. Not in the way I always have, like a slithering aching piece of me — this is that sensation on steroids, an intense throb of heartache, of grief, of abject terror. As if the universe is crying for me.

  My back sings with the panicked raking of nails against my spine. Something is here — something is wrong.

  Something is coming.

  I turn in the direction of the house and run, pain spiking through my bruised knees and into my hips. The grass is cold against my feet, even through my boots — I shudder in the chill breeze that’s taken up root in the mountain air now that the day has died. I strain my ears, listening for the throbbing of footsteps at my back, half expecting them, but the world remains silent. The herd of cattle that were slumbering in the moonlight on my way here are gone. Did they all wake up and run off?

  Yes. They know too — they know something is here, even if they can’t see the threat.

  But now I do see the threat. And part of me wishes I didn’t.

  Vampires emerge from the tree line, at least five, their flesh pale and horrid in the moonlight. The deep crags that time has burrowed in their skin are no match for the black rot of their teeth. Not like Silas, or Draynor, or Kain, or Markula. They are monsters — nothing but monsters.

  They make no sound as they walk through the grass — not running. If they wanted to overtake me, they could do it in seconds, and yet they’ve chosen to stroll.

  “Hey, girl!” one calls, his gravelly rasp distorted by his teeth — a giant rat with scraggly pointed incisors. “Want to dance with the devil?” The others laugh. If they were alive, they’d be the men following me through a dark alley. I’ve dealt with those men before, put them down the best way I know how — with a kick to the balls, a knee to the face, and a phone call to the proper authorities.

  But this isn’t the same. I’m a strong woman, but I’m not a monster. I can’t defend myself against a vampire. My teeth grind together so hard they squeak.

  “Where you goin’, sweetheart?” This voice is higher — excited. They want me afraid.

  I run harder, sweat pouring down my back. My hips ache. I slip my knife from its spot on my thigh. The handle burns my fingers.

  These assholes want to drain my panic along with my blood.

  And I’ll be damned if I’ll let them without a fight.

  17

  Draynor

  The doctor is the sweetest we’ve had in a long time, yet, I feel no desire to keep feeding. I feel her panic as a burning sensation in my guts, far stronger than my pleasure from the kill. For the last hour, I’ve felt nothing, but it’s as if her anxiety has forced my senses into overdrive.

  I lift my head. Markula is already standing, his gaze on a spot in the distance well beyond the trees.

  “What is it?” I say.

  He shrugs one thick shoulder, the pale gray-white of his wrinkled flesh a crackling roadmap of black lines. We’ve been together for hundreds of years, and I know when he’s concerned, though I’ve never been able to feel him. I suspect it’s a function of being the leader of the hive, but he’s the only leader I’ve ever known — I can’t say for sure.

  Markula finally drops his gaze to mine. He says nothing.

  He doesn’t need to. I wince as an ache races from my knees and up along the sides of my hips, but I don’t think it’s my pain. Has she been injured? The thought fills me with panic and rage in equal measure, though it’s quite possible the emotions are spilling over from her. I focus on my hip socket and pull the pain — her pain — up and out, letting it flow into my veins. I feel it melt.

  “We have to go,” Silas says, and I turn to him, his violet eyes like jewels in his craggy face. “She’s being tracked.”

  “Mikael’s group?” Kain asks, wiping blood from his lips.

  Silas shakes his head. “No. Someone else. I do not know who; it’s possible from their thoughts that they just stumbled upon her, but — ”

  “Too much coincidence,” Kain says.

  “We have to go,” Silas says again, but Markula shakes his head.

  My chest burns. “You can’t leave her to die,” I say.

  “We can,” Markula says. “We should. This isn’t our battle, and I haven’t kept us safe for this long only to have you running into the night after another hive.”

  “Send bats, then … or wolves,” Silas insists. “They won’t be able to prove it was you, and that might be enough to run them off.” But even he doesn’t believe that; I can feel the tensing of his muscles, preparing to go after her.

  Pain flares in my hand — what’s she done? Silas is staring into the woods, his back tight.

  “I’ll do no such thing,” Markula growls.

  No … I can’t let him sacrifice her. “Our lives are spent protecting them, and now you’re choosing to — ”

  “I can’t use the animals.” His voice cuts the air like an angry rumble of thunder. “I don’t know where she is. I can’t sense her at all, and I can’t smell them. And when I called for the rats yesterday, they ran past her — away from her.” He shakes his head. “She’s weakening us, you know it, and I know it. It’s better for us if we let her go now. Maybe better for her too. A human can’t live with vampires.”

  “She’s not just a human,” Kain says, his voice quiet and melodic like the middle range of the piano. “If she was human, you three would be able to read her. If she was human, she wouldn’t have been able to fend off Mikael. And if she’s human, she wouldn’t be a weapon — she wouldn’t have the power to weaken any of you.”

  “I’m not weak,” Silas says. “Not anymore. At first, I felt muddy, drained, but … it’s changed. I can hear her now.” He meets my eyes. “I can hear everything.”

  “Let her go,” Markula demands. “She’s dangerous. I will not put our hive at risk, not for that woman.”

  Silas’s nostrils flare. “You’re the only one who’s weak right now,” he growls. He’s gone before Markula can respond.

  I meet Markula’s fiery eyes and follow Silas into the trees.

  18

  Dawn

  I left the door unlocked; thank god I left the doo
r unlocked. It reverberates through the room with a bright heavy thunk that I feel in my bones as much as the ache in my hips. But … my hips are better, aren’t they? And my knees … Yes, definitely better.

  But even that won’t help me once I’m fighting monsters. I race for the stairs, tearing up toward the second story, gripping the banister hard — my palm is on fire with friction burns.

  The front door crashes into the wall. “Come on, girl, we know you’re here!” His voice is a malevolent sing-song, the voice of someone who already thinks he’s won. Fucker. “You have something we want, just give it up, and we won’t hurt you.”

  I leap over the top stair and take off down the hall. No time, no time, no time.

  What do they want? I don’t know. I don’t care. And either way, they’ll kill me once they have it. Or they’ll hold me captive and bleed me dry — is that a thing, or do they just tear you apart? I run through everything I know about vampires as I tear into the first bedroom. What might help me?

  Bed. Dresser. Desk. A little spindly chair.

  I go for the chair, knife still clutched in my fist. The legs break off as I smash it against the floor.

  They’re coming. I don’t hear footsteps, but there’s a shhing sound like nails running along wallpaper, and that’s probably exactly what it is.

  I square my shoulders and face the door, a chair-leg stake in one hand, my blade in the other. The sound outside stops. I hear the creature breathing more in my head than in my ears. The handle turns.

  The door swings inward.

  I slam the chair leg into the first thing I see — its chest — but the asshole keeps coming, clawing at me, raking me with nails that feel as if they’re tipped in molten iron. His nails catch me in the same spot Mikael’s did, tearing through the bandage on my arm and shredding the flesh beneath. The creature reaches one clawed fist to his chest and pulls the stake from his heart. He smiles and bares his teeth, his face emaciated, the flesh yellowed and sagging as if it’s already rotting off his bones. He laughs.