The breath he was holding in his chest came out on a rough exhale. His eyes measured the greed and power in the room. “Yeah, I can see that things are fine and dandy. Excuse me if I don’t serve up the love of my life on a silver platter.”
Hiram’s voice, louder than the rest, blared through the room. “Last night our haven was infiltrated by a shadow that moved and breathed and took five of our khissmates’ souls to the Ever After. I wouldn’t have believed the rumor if someone had spoken it to me, but I saw it with my own two eyes. And I’ve seen it before, a long, long time ago.”
He paused, and met each Primus’s eyes in turn. “It was a death shade. I’m certain of it.”
Mumbles of disbelief spread through the room like wildfire. Primuses sat back in their seats, quiet and pensive. Dylan could’ve heard a pin drop in the silence that lay thick throughout the room.
“Someone is attempting to unleash the death shades,” Hiram continued. “I don’t know who would want to do this, but we have a chance at stopping them before this gets out of control. If we can—”
“What do you mean, before this gets out of control?” Justus interrupted. “What happened when you met with this kind of evil before?”
Hiram looked down at the Primuses beneath heavily lidded eyes. “Not much damage can be done with a single death shade. Five deaths are nothing compared to what they are capable of. The person who unleashed this creature upon us now knows its true power. He or she knows what it can do. Greed and pure evil will take root and he will search out another, and another, until the evil of the Nether Realm is brought upon us.”
Two Primuses spoke at once, a slurred grumble. “How’d you stop them before?”
“We didn’t. The Crimson Bay Massacre of 1912 and subsequent explosion of the premises claimed the lives of every elder in the area, along with the evil that was trying to take over. Total devastation. I don’t have to remind you of our tragic losses. But we are forewarned this time. It is not too late. Thanks to Dylan and Slade recovering a few pages of scroll, we have a clearer picture of the Grimorium Verum than we’ve ever had. I’ve been informed that in a newly translated passage, it reads, “Elders will fall, all will succumb.” These events have been foreseen, fellow Primuses. Perhaps the way we can defeat this evil has been foreseen as well. We have a team working on translating the scrolls as we speak, along with another searching for the rest of the revered tome. If we can piece together the rest of the scrolls, we may be able to stop more elders from being murdered for their souls.”
Dylan leaned over again, speaking quietly into Ruan’s ear. “This is something we’ve never seen, Ruan. We could use your help.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the best at breaking codes and deciphering the scrolls; you know that. There’s no one like you.”
As if Slade’s superior hearing caught on her words, his gaze shot to her. She loved his possessiveness, but at times like these he needed to tone that shit down. She continued anyway, a blush rising in her cheeks. “If you can look through the scrolls for two minutes . . . two minutes . . . and try to piece some things together, maybe we could figure out what’s really going on.”
He met her eyes for the first time. Behind the hard exterior of his clenching jaw and the tight line of his lips, Dylan glimpsed the friend she knew. “I’m telling you,” she said softly, nervously tossing her curls over her shoulder. “This thing, the death shade, it spoke Eve’s name.”
His eyes, flaming greener than she’d ever seen them, shadowed over. “If what you’re saying is true, I can protect her better away from here. This haven sounds like a target. Besides, I don’t take orders anymore.”
“I’m not giving you an order, Ruan. I’m asking you. As a friend.”
Justus shouted over them, his voice demanding. “Do you know which elder was killed?”
“No,” Hiram said firmly.
Another Primus, tall and sleek in black and gray, stood up from a table at Hiram’s left. “And you don’t know who is behind this?”
“Nothing concrete,” he answered again.
“What else?” another Primus asked. “We must know everything and you’re holding back.”
Hiram held up the top page of scroll for the room to see. “I know that there is reference in these scrolls to the death shades. Also found in these scrambled passages is where they will be unleashed and how many will die in the end. We simply didn’t know the time before. The time is now.”
“But you said they’re scrambled,” Justus spoke out. “We’ve been trying to decode those pages for centuries. What hope can we have if a death shade has already been released? It could be too late.”
Dylan put a hand on Ruan’s knee and squeezed. His gaze shot to his jeans and the placement of her hand, then up to her face. Gone were the traces of lust he’d had for her months ago. All that remained was friendship . . . if that. God, she hoped that was still left. Otherwise, there would be no way he’d help with the scrolls. And they needed him.
“Ruan, please,” she said. “Just give it a shot. We can’t afford to hand over the strength of our elders to someone who wishes to use those powers for evil. And I saw this death shade too. There is nothing more evil. You came here for a reason, right? You answered my call because deep down you wanted to help. You can’t turn away from your duty.”
“No.” He brushed her hand away. “I came here because, despite my better judgment, I thought maybe I could talk to you about something that’s going on with me and the resurgence of my nightmares. Friend to friend. But the first thing you do is ask something of me in the name of duty to a khiss I no longer belong to. A khiss that tried to kill Eve not two months ago. I’m no one’s guppy. Not anymore.”
So that was the reason for the tension in his neck and shoulders. She thought he’d looked too rigid earlier. He thought he’d come back and be put to work. That he’d be nothing more than a servant, a guard, a faceless drone who’d always complete the task at hand without question. And what had she gone and done?
Hope sank to the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t realized what she’d asked of him in the name of friendship. Some friend she was . . . and what did he just say about his nightmares? They’d returned? That wasn’t good. Not good at all. The last time his nightmares surfaced he’d gone underground for a decade.
Slade dragged his prying eyes and his supersonic ears away from their conversation. Hiram stood tall, a looming figure in black. He held the scrolls high and let them unroll to the floor.
Ruan stood and adjusted his black sweatshirt over his shoulders. “It was good seeing you, Dylan, but do me a favor and don’t call me again.”
“Wait,” she said, desperate to know she hadn’t muddled things for good. She’d help him with his nightmares. She’d find another way to decipher the scrolls on her own, without him, if that meant he’d come back and they could be friends like they were before. “As my friend and nothing more, stay and talk with me.”
Ruan hesitated. For a second he looked like he was going to take his seat, and her offer.
Hiram shouted, “The person who wrote this section of scroll is in this room at this very moment. This person, and this person alone, can tell us how to stop the devastation that’s to come.”
Dylan swept her eyes over the scroll and settled on the familiar scrawl marking the parchment. “Damn it.” She swallowed hard and hung her head. The one thing she needed to do to stop the death shades, deciphering the scrolls, now meant she’d have to do something in the name of duty—the one thing she just resolved not to do to a friend.
“Ruan,” Hiram said. All eyes in the council followed his gaze. “You weren’t about to leave, were you?”
Ruan spun around, his chin high, his broad shoulders pulled back. “I have nothing to do with the devastation you’re talking about. As far as I’m concerned, you may’ve brought it on yourself.”
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“I will overlook your disrespect for your Primus and this council for now. As long as you tell me why this section of hundred-year-old scroll, supposedly written by one of our elders, happens to be written in your hand?”
Ruan opened his mouth, looked like he was about to refute what Hiram said, then set his own eyes upon the scroll. He must’ve recognized his handwriting because his gaze shot to Dylan.
“And I suppose you knew nothing about this when you called me?” Ruan said, giving her a hard glare over his shoulder.
No, he couldn’t think she called him here, full knowing Hiram planned to use him. “I didn’t. I swear, I didn’t.”
He threw up a hand, stopping her. “It’s my experience that friends warn each other when they’re about to be ambushed.” With a sigh, Ruan stormed heavy-footed to Hiram’s table to examine the parchment.
Chapter Ten
“You need only three things to live a full and happy life: blood passing your lips, love filling your heart, and a friend standing faithfully at your side.”
After Life coach, Ray Bloodhorn
“DAUGHTERS OF A river goddess.” Eve faced her Mythology 101 class, a clicker for the PowerPoint cradled in her palm. Even though the lights were off and only thin slats of sunlight shone through the narrow overhead windows on the far sides of the classroom, she could see her students’ faces, glowing incandescently in the yellow light of the projector. “Though some myths indicate Aphrodite had a hand in their creation. They were the most beautiful creatures on earth, capable of seducing the most loyal companions.”
She scanned the stadium-seating auditorium, her eyes coming to rest on random students scrambling to take notes, and others covering their eyes, clearly snoozing. There wasn’t a single empty chair in her class; a pleasant change from last semester, when the auditorium echoed with emptiness. “Their voices were a soft song of promise; their intentions wicked beyond measure. They were Sirens from Greek mythology and the focus of our next unit.”
She swiped a stack of study notes from the elongated table at the front that doubled as a desk, and strode to Dante, who was occupying one of the movie-theatre-style chairs near the door. He was studying her with an intensity that made her self-conscious. What was he thinking with those melting gold eyes? He’d been so mysterious since being assigned her assistant at the start of the semester; she hardly knew a thing about him, other than his name.
She put the papers on his tiny pull-up desk and walked away, feeling his eyes boring into her back. He stood and distributed the papers as she continued.
“Some claimed they were bird-women, luring fishermen to their island with their innocent songs so the mesmerized men would crash their boats on the sharp rocks lining the shore. Once shipwrecked, the sirens would steal the seafarers’ treasures. Then kill them. Some legends say the sirens were mermaid-like creatures that would enchant fishermen with their beauty to the point of delirium.” She clicked the PowerPoint screen to a slide showing a golden-haired goddess with fluffy white wings, playing a harp. Lustful eyes, yet an air of innocence. She was beautiful enough to stop a man’s heart. Perfection in its utmost form. “Other myths indicate Demeter gave them wings to search for Persephone when she was kidnapped by Hades and dragged to the Underworld. Because of their journey to the other realm, the Sirens were then cursed with the knowledge of past and future.”
Someone in the back mumbled, “Hmph, I’d like to have that curse.”
Her attention shifted to the shaggy-haired, broad-shouldered twenty-something slumped into his chair about ten rows back. “I could see how, on the outside, knowing what lies behind you and ahead of you might be a blessing. You could play the lotto and win. You could see who your one true love is and know when they’ll enter your life.” At that, she paused, letting them ponder the endless possibilities as if there were no negative repercussions. “But you’d also know the exact moment each loved one would die and how they’d meet their ends. You’d relive their deaths each day when you saw their faces and looked into their eyes. You’d also see your own end and need to come to grips with the fact that you couldn’t change anything if you tried. That’s quite a burden to bear, don’t you think?”
The twenty-something nodded methodically, his pencil tapping the edge of his desk. Dante sighed heavily, drawing her attention to where he stood against the door-jamb, watching her again. Her gaze shot to the clock. Not much time to delve into the next chapter on muses. The inspirational beings would have to wait.
“All right, that’s all for today. Remember there’s a midterm Wednesday on chapters one through five, and your essays on Mythological Allegories in Modern Fiction and Film are due Friday.”
As the students filed out, Dante flipped on the lights. The auditorium looked so much bigger without students filling the seats. It was hollowed out—four walls, tan carpet, bare bones. “Thanks again for picking up those study guides,” Eve said, shutting down the PowerPoint projector and turning off the computer. “Now I can feel better about giving them that killer of a test on Wednesday.”
Dante gathered papers on the front table. “No need to thank me. I told you it wasn’t a problem. I was just finishing up my run and headed to your office anyway. And I’m sure your students don’t share your relief for my last-minute errand. No study guide meant no test, although I don’t know why you hold yourself to that standard. They don’t need a piece of paper to study by.”
He looked different today, Eve realized, as he swept past her to pick up a scrap of paper under a chair in the front row. His hair was the same, a dark shade of auburn and spiked up in front. His clothes exhibited the usual professionalism she’d come to know him by. Suit and tie were an appreciated norm.
Maybe it was his eyes . . . yes, that’s what was different about him. His eyes were darker than normal. Not the light liquid gold she’d been intrigued by from time to time, but a deep citrine.
“I know most of the students would do fine without the study guide, thanks to the extra tutoring sessions you opened up last semester,” Eve said. “But I feel better knowing I’ve done my best to prepare those who might’ve fallen through the cracks. Besides, this unit was pretty extensive.”
Dante three-pointed the scrap of paper he’d picked up off the floor into a waste bin by the door. “It has nothing to do with my extra study session, believe me. It was only one more hour twice a week. Speaking of . . .” Dante leaned back on the front table, crossing his arms and his ankles. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about cutting back on that last class.”
Eve stopped shoving papers into her bag so she could focus on what he was saying. Cutting back usually meant stopping all together. Or at least heading that direction. She needed him more than he realized, especially since she wanted to spend every spare moment in Ruan’s arms. Running mindless errands to Staples and the Religious Studies department office would be a colossal waste of time. Valuable time she couldn’t get back.
No one understood her predicament.
Ruan seemed to have all the time in the world. He’d outlive her by hundreds of years and live her life over again—maybe two full lifetimes—without her. Every minute was one Eve couldn’t get back. She planned to use them all without regret.
Maybe she’d have to stop working all together. But if she quit her job, how would she pay for their rent? Or her car payment? Sure, Ruan’s training lessons brought in money, but it was enough to support him. Not the both of them.
If donating blood for vamp blood banks across Crimson Bay paid for withdrawals, Eve mused, she’d be in the clear! She’d donated regularly since high school, since she was old enough to volunteer for the service. There was so much she owed the vampire race for what they did for her when she was young. She owed vampires—a single vampire, actually—her life. She’d repay that debt a thousand times over with the blood running through her veins.
Eve tried not to think about th
at part of her past, yet the gruesome images seemed to be stained in her memory. Her mother being attacked by a therian flickering in and out of canine form outside their home; cries for Eve to run to safety, to get help; her mother’s blood pooling on the sidewalk, oozing over Eve’s fading hopscotch lines.
She was only six years old. Too afraid to run or scream. Young, naïve Eve stood, staring at her mother being shredded to pieces by large wolf claws. It had turned on Eve next, slamming her face-first into the pavement. Its incisors had cut into her neck and shoulder, releasing warm streams of blood down her neck and arms.
From out of nowhere, a woman with ratted red hair appeared at their side and sliced the therian in two with the quick swipe of a jagged blade. As the therian rolled off Eve’s shaking body, dead and flickering, Eve realized something was wrong—she’d lost too much blood. Her arms were tingly. Her vision blurred. Before she faded out of consciousness, Eve could’ve sworn the woman with the flaming red hair leaned over her and told her it’d be all right. That it wasn’t her destiny to die on the sidewalk in vain. And then she smiled, showing the whitest, longest set of fangs Eve had ever seen.
She’d been saved.
It was the first time Eve realized humans weren’t alone in the world. And that vampires were truly good creatures, capable of love and mercy like everyone else.
“So what’d you think?” Dante asked, dragging Eve back to the present. “I don’t think cutting back on that last study session isn’t going to make or break any of your students. Mind if I pull back a bit?”
Shaking her head more to dust off the remnants of the memory she’d fallen into than to answer his question, Eve slipped her notebook labeled Myth101 into her bag and zipped it shut. “That’s fine. Do what you need to do. But do you mind if I ask why? Is your current class-load too heavy or am I working you too hard?”
He laughed mischievously—two muffled humphs that told her how off-base she was. “No, it’s nothing like that. I just . . . well, I decided to pick up some extracurricular activities and I don’t think I’ll have time to devote to helping out as much as I’d like.”
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