Fatal Harmony (The Vein Chronicles Book 1)

by Anne Malcom

  I yanked myself from his grasp. Or tried to.

  “What the fuck just happened?” he demanded, his hands clutching my arms as his eyes clutched my attention.

  “I tripped,” I lied. “These stones are a health and safety hazard. I could sue the owner. I’ll kill him instead.” I grinned at him, finding enough strength to wrench myself from his grip and resume my journey.

  I didn’t take careful steps that would betray weakness, though the world was still spinning slightly.

  “Isla,” he hissed, no longer at my back, but keeping stride with me as we approached the door. It was charged with something strong. Something dark that tasted fouler the closer we got.

  “There’s somethin’ wrong with you,” he rasped. “Vampires don’t trip.”

  I glanced at him. “They do when they’re being distracted by a slayer who kisses them instead of slays them. Why is it that you did that, Buffy?” I asked sweetly.

  My question had its intended effect of shutting him up. I didn’t think he’d like to be reminded of sucking face with the undead creature he was born to slay, no matter how attractive she was.

  Trouble was, it kind of backfired, sending heat tingling down my spine at the electric response in Thorne’s body. The irritation, fury and arousal created a cocktail better than even my favorite bartender could.

  His distraction was only momentary, as just before I got to the door that rippled with the amount of magic cloaked over it, he stepped in front of me. The view was arguably better, but I wasn’t there for pleasing and confusing vistas of slayers cut from marble.

  “Are you sure you weren’t born merely to piss me off, not kill me?” I snapped. “You’re succeeding, and I might even drop dead just to get away from you.”

  His jaw hardened. “You’re not goin’ in there,” he declared.

  I laughed at the way he folded his arms, as if such a gesture cemented his word as law.

  Males.

  “Yes. Yes I am. And I would snap your collarbone for even thinking that you had any sort of authority over me, but I’ve got better things to do.”

  On that note, I waved the grenade I’d just pulled the pin on in front of us.

  “I’d step back a little if you like all your limbs attached to your body,” I instructed blandly.

  I threw the grenade at the door. To the unpracticed eye, it looked rundown, but the magic was tangible. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a witch, so I was hoping for a grenade to work.

  The air vibrated and debris from the door flew through the air with the flames that flickered around me.

  Not enough to singe my eyebrows, luckily. And not enough to rival the heat of Thorne’s gaze.

  Troubling, but a thought for later. Or never.

  Maybe the blast had killed him; then I wouldn’t have to worry about the attraction and the unwavering panic at the thought of his death.

  “Jesus,” his muted shout loaded with fury was enough to satisfy my worry that he’d perished.

  I stepped forward through the rubble, bracing myself as I crossed the threshold.

  A slight prickling and shadow of the excruciating pain of earlier that day, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

  Grenades doubled as spell breakers when one wasn’t in possession of a witch. Handy to know.

  “Hello, anyone home?” I called into the dark foyer. “The door was open.”

  The beat of silence didn’t fool me; the entrance was empty, but the house was not. The cavernous space had been disturbed in its afterlife, by creatures as dead as the house was grand.

  One heartbeat upstairs.

  “Witchy poo, please come down,” I called sweetly.

  “If you didn’t realize, that was the signal,” Thorne hissed into the device at his wrist.

  Three heartbeats entered the lower levels from various entrances. They weren’t what I focused on.

  “You think the element of fuckin’ surprise might have given us the upper hand considering we’re outnumbered,” Thorne hissed, his body tight in what I guessed was his battle stance.

  I gave the rippling veins in his forearms an appreciative glance before being slightly surprised that he’d clocked the number of vamps so quickly.

  “You lost the element of surprise the moment you and the bumbling oafs you call friends set foot on the perimeter, with all that breathing and blood circulation,” I replied, stepping through the foyer into a living room. “Plus, I did surprise them. Grenade instead of doorbell.”

  The foyer was large and decorated with crumbling opulence, a stale smell of mold and dust weaving through the bitter magic that had disturbed it.

  The vampire that darted in front of me, hissing and attacking, was little more than an annoyance.

  The next two were slightly more of an effort to subdue, and I scowled at Thorne as he yanked the third out of the air and embedded his blade in its temple.

  “I don’t need your help,” I protested, just as another vampire got a lucky kick into my chest which sent me hurtling through a wall.

  I landed in a sitting room, covered in dust, my ribs protesting from the chunk of wood protruding from them. I yanked it out, gritting my teeth at the pain as half of my insides, and fabric from my tank, went with it.

  Luckily I was wearing a replaceable outfit that time.

  Thumps of flesh on flesh and the unmistakable sound and smell of death from the other room echoed and then there was that unnatural silence once more.

  Thorne appeared in the archway I’d created.

  “You were saying?” he asked, his voice even, though I glimpsed a twinkle in his eye.

  I pushed myself up with a scowl, wincing at the protest from my healing midsection, then stormed past him and the GI Joes who’d wandered through the carnage, breathing heavily.

  I pushed No Neck’s chest and sent him to the floor to appease some of my irritation.

  It did help.

  As I ascended the stairs, I turned. The silence of before reigned once more, as the vampire welcome wagon had been dispatched. The increase in heartbeats and heavy breathing behind me was a telltale sign that the slayers were unfortunately still alive.

  “This is where you get off,” I said to Thorne, who was my shadow on the step behind me.

  His grin, or the shadow of it that couldn’t have been due to me manhandling his friend, disappeared.

  “We’re not goin’ anywhere.”

  “Just because you’ve shown that nature didn’t completely fuck up by making you able to roughhouse a couple of baby vampires doesn’t mean you can handle what’s up there.” I pointed to the roof.

  “And you care?” he challenged.

  “No, but I know once I take care of all of that, I’ll have to either kill you all or knock you unconscious in order to get what I came for. And I always get what I want. As long as you know that, be my guest. I’d advise you to keep your arms inside the ride at all times, or they’re likely to get torn off.”

  I made it to the top of the stairs quicker than the rest of Robin Hood and his merry men but not as quick as I could have been. I’d sensed them waiting at the end of the long hall.

  Thorne’s gun was raised, his body slightly in front of mine as soon as he caught a glimpse.

  The second time he’d protected me with his body on instinct.

  The rest of the slayers gathered behind us, the rapid increase in their already thundering heartbeats betraying their fear at seeing the bundle of red-eyed freaks standing stoic at the edge of the hall. Waiting.

  The loudest boom of them all stayed steady. Either Thorne had exceptional control over his beats per minute or he wasn’t afraid.

  I didn’t get time to think on this, because a silent command rattled through the air and the red-eyed abominations hurtled forward.

  I was vaguely surprised and unnerved that there wasn’t just the one I was expecting. It didn’t bode well that one relatively unimportant vampire had so many in his command.

  Now that the tests had been done
, they would be making sure that more pivotal players in the rebellion got their very own gang of red-eyed freaks.

  Gunshots echoed through the hall and several oncoming bodies hurtled to the ground. Another quickly took the place of the fallen.

  They would be on us in seconds.

  “Isla,” Thorne snapped, his voice a yell even though it sailed through the air on little more than a whisper. “There’s too many of them.”

  I regarded the horde. That’s what they were, an oncoming swarm of animals, with no brainpower other than attack and kill.

  We may’ve held more coherent thought, but their numbers and the fact that they weren’t weighed down by things like worry for their own survival gave them a distinct advantage.

  I grinned, rocking forward on my heels slightly. I glanced at Thorne. “Do I look worried?”

  The first who tried to latch onto me said good-bye to their head in a second. Sounds of close-range gunshots still peppered the air, along with grunts of exertion. I dispatched the creatures easily. They were stronger than humans, but not by much. Their danger came with their lack of concern for their own survival. They were serving their master, who had ordered them to attack.

  The slayers weren’t as useless as I expected; not one had died yet, and the horde was diminishing.

  I yanked at the back of a creature who was about to make a meal out of Thorne’s neck as his back was turned, fighting off two others.

  The tearing of its neck coincided with Thorne finishing the two off in time for him to witness me saving his hide.

  I quirked my brow as his eyes blazed to mine. “You’re welcome.” My gaze darted to the gap in the attacking forces. “I’m going to assume you’ve got it from here.”

  “Isla,” he roared, but the rest of his yell was lost as I left the diminishing battle behind in search of the more important prey.

  I didn’t notice the concrete wall of magic until I ran straight into it.

  So instead of looking at the grand bedroom with a four-poster antique bed which and a dressing table, I was looking at the cobwebs that cloaked the ornate designs on the ceiling.

  My fractured skull made it a little hard to move, as did my broken ribs.

  Those weren’t what worried me. It was the way my blood seemed to turn to ash and something that I hadn’t realized was planted inside me began to bloom.

  A spell that I’d half known was there and chosen to ignore.

  One that tasted decidedly like my death.

  If this were a cartoon, I’d likely have birds fluttering around my head as I blinked away the cold premonition of my own demise.

  I darted up quickly enough to fend off an attack by a blur of teeth and snapping.

  Not quickly enough. The teeth sank into my forearm instead of my neck, which was preferable but no less painful.

  His grip was that of a pit bull, but I rectified that by snapping his neck, flinging his body to the wall.

  “Thanks for inviting me around for tea,” I said to Earnshaw, who was standing beside his witch. His arms were folded and he was dressed in a three-piece suit, grinning smugly. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. It’s disgraceful, really, hiding behind a witch because you’re too scared to fight me yourself.

  His gaze went feral. “No, it’s smart,” he hissed. “What’s disgraceful is you aligning yourself with slayers.”

  Obviously, Thorne had joined the party. I had hoped it would take him longer to fight the dregs of the first wave. I needed to stop underestimating him and his team just for being human.

  His heat at my side gave away his location and I glanced to him. I could smell blood, and I needed to ensure it wasn’t coming from him. I was mollified that he was stained with red, but not his own. I didn’t care about the rest of the slayers.

  His gaze centered on my bleeding arm, then upwards towards my midsection, where his eyes bulged. I glanced down to where my rib protruded from my skin.

  I sighed and put my hand to it, shoving it back in with a crunch and sinking my fangs into my lips to muffle any cry that would totally fuck up my badass routine.

  I didn’t miss the wide-eyed gaze of Thorne’s team as I did so, not having time to smile at my not-so-secret admirers. I moved my attention back to Earnshaw.

  “I’m not exactly aligning myself with them. They’re kind of stalking me.” I shrugged. “Can you blame them?”

  I stepped forward pointedly, to get the chitchat over and get out of Thorne’s presence.

  “Now would you like to surrender now and tell me what your malicious and evil plan is, or do we have to do it the proverbial hard way?”

  Earnshaw grinned, his glance going to the adjoining door I’d only just noticed. He didn’t say anything, but the way the air thickened with his gaze made some nonverbal command slink over me. It felt wrong, grated against my skin much the way the stench of the witch did. Her spell was tangling in my insides, and I fought to keep the grimace off my face and the memories at bay.

  I didn’t exactly know what it was, but Jonathon’s lifeless corpse was trying to claw itself out of my subconscious, so I guessed it wasn’t good.

  The door opened.

  “Great,” I muttered as the countless abominations filtered out, their red eyes wild. The first lot were obviously designed to tire out intruders. This was the kill squad.

  “It’s the hard way.”

  Thorne and his men went to work battling the creatures that came out of the door like clowns out of a miniature car. For every one they cut down, more replaced them.

  The witch had probably cloaked them so I couldn’t sense the impending attack.

  There was the silver lining that I was able to unsheathe my sword at my back and whip through the horde with speed to save the brave but idiotic slayers from at least three deathblows. I lopped the head from a snapping woman, or what used to be a woman, just before she sank her fangs into Thorne’s neck. He took out his own opponent before turning to see the blood dripping from the sword that saved his life.

  I grinned at him through the prickling of black magic in my belly. “Second time tonight. You owe me a beer. Handle the rest on your own, would you? I’ve got a bitch to kill.”

  I whirled, stepping out of the small area designated for battle and into the part of the room where Earnshaw and his witch watched with impassive faces. Earnshaw grinned and my gaze whipped back to see more creatures pouring out, the slayers struggling to keep them at bay. I should have gone back to help, but I feared the dark shadow itching up my spine might consume me if the witch didn’t die soon. And the way one of the snapping creatures hit the space between me and them showed I couldn’t even if I wanted to; I was in some sort of spell circle with Earnshaw and his pet witch.

  The slayers were on their own. To meet their deaths, presumably.

  I swallowed the ash at that.

  “So, Minerva, we haven’t been properly introduced,” I addressed the witch in the same flowing black dress as before. She was grinning seductively at me, her glamour at full effect. The moonlight flickered in from the one window in the room to make her skin glitter with diamonds, highlighting her rosy lips and slim figure. “I’ve seen your true face. I know you’re not winning any beauty contests, so this”—I waved my hand at her body—“is completely unnecessary.”

  Her smile didn’t dim as white-hot pain radiated from my hairline to my toes. I didn’t make a sound, though it brought me to my knees, the roar of it in my ears drowning everything out.

  I blinked the dusty room back into existence to see black lace trailing around the floor to rest at my face. Long-nailed fingers drew blood from my chin as she yanked it up to meet her eyes.

  Her black eyes.

  “My name is Belladonna, you insolent bitch,” she informed me, her words a whip. “It will be the last thing you hear before you meet your final death.” She paused, tilting her head. “That’s after you swim in the blood and pain of your past.”

  The room rippled, turned to paper and fell l
ike a fake background in a Hollywood movie.

  It was replaced by a house that didn’t exist anywhere, except in memories I’d banished.

  It moved as I moved, my slippered feet taking unhurried steps towards the door.

  My skirts rustled in the mild summer air, and my hand lifted to brush a tendril of hair that had escaped my pins.

  “No!” the interior me screamed at the memory, the imprint of my human self.

  I was stuck in her head, thinking her thoughts. Inside I was me, but I was trapped in this ghost of a memory that tasted so much worse because it was real.

  My corset dug into my waist, my ribs protesting at being constrained in such a way, and I had an ache in my feet as I had walked from town, deciding to marvel at the delight in the day. To bathe in the happiness.

  My skin burned somewhat, as I’d gone without a hat and the harshness of midday sun wreaked havoc on my pale skin.

  All of that, plus the beat of my heart, felt so real, like the past five hundred years had been a dream and I was still a human in Paris. In love.

  I watched in horror as my hand twisted the doorknob, my vision tilting with my head as I remembered the confusion of it being slightly ajar.

  I clawed at the edges of my mind, trying to find a way out. This was a spell, magic; there had to be a way, a hidden door out of this prison.

  Then the smell assaulted me. Even my weak human senses recognized it. Hurried my steps and turned everything into ice that had once been hot blood in my veins.

  Once I saw the first body my stomach lurched with nausea. My eyes scattered around our grand drawing room.

  Blood mingled with the rose pattern of our rugs.

  “Celeste,” I whispered, passing my housekeeper, her throat torn open and her green eyes opened in the final empty stare of death.

  My steps were on autopilot. Pain mingled with numbness in the most unpleasant and horrific of feelings.

  Scattered on the floor in some sort of brutal decoration was everyone I’d ever known and become friends with in Paris.

  People who had given me the gift of hope. That maybe I’d have a life instead of a death.

  Their deaths were the surest way to kill that hope.