“Baca didn’t know anything of vampires. Nicolas, with the help of our dear Dominika, slaughtered the men sent to murder him. He came for me, but it was too late; I had already become impermeable. It was spoken in my family that our ancestors were fierce lions, black as night and more regal than the highest king. My father told me my lion lived in my heart and would be with me always. I never understood what he meant until that night. Sometimes, even humanity has its magic.” His eyes met mine again. Wrapping a hand around the back of my head, he pulled me close. “What magic is inside you?”
His breath smelt like mint leaf tea. Our closeness, once a hindrance to my very being, became a comfort I’d never felt. The strength he carried with him didn’t match the story he’d told of himself or the weakness I’d seen in him. That strength tugged at a piece deep in me, the piece which kept me fighting. Whatever my magic, he knew where to find it. Whether he was aware of that or not, I hadn’t a clue. I hoped he did, for both our sakes.
The light on my phone glowed and the time blinked. The timer I’d set for one minute until midnight had gone off without a hitch. “Showtime,” I said and planted a smooch on lips I knew to be perfect in every way.
“That’s my girl.” He smiled and I knew he saw in me something I’d been missing: myself.
We didn’t know each other well. Honestly, in the scheme of things, we hardly knew each other at all. But we’d fought for our lives together and that created a bond time never could. No matter what my future held, I knew I wanted Cyrus in it.
Midnight hit and I dug my hands into the hard, moist soil. The grass which covered my father’s grave was decades old and planted deep in the earth. My short, bitten nails scraped desperately at it. The seconds on the time I’d set ticked by. Not making a dent with my hands, I used the corner of the old brick phone to jab at the dirt until it cracked apart and let me in. Finally making headway, I plunged my fingertips painfully into the ground. The dirt under the surface was wet and cold, and my fingers became numb quickly.
Seconds flew by as I tilled, shoving handfuls of earth into my jeans pocket. Thinking I should have unbuttoned my pants before trying to shove clumps of wet dirt into them, I moved as fast as I could. Full, she’d said. I dug; time went. A minute could be an eternity until it needed to be.
“Five seconds,” Cyrus said calmly, his resolve helping to soothe my frazzled nerves.
Shoving and digging, my pocket was filled to the brim, soaking its wetness through to my undies. The alarm sounded; time was up. I pulled the cork on the bottle and the scent caught my attention.
“Whiskey?” I asked no one in particular.
“A gift is all you need.” This from the lion boy.
“I guess it’s a good one.” I poured the liquid into the divot I’d made. “Please let this work. Please help me.” I let the last swig slide down my own gullet. My own personal touch added to the ritual. He’d have done the same. “Thanks, Dad. Be seeing you.”
I closed my eyes and tried to feel for him. Like I’d heard Tatum, I hoped I’d hear my dad. I didn’t. Didn’t feel a thing, in fact. I thought maybe it hadn’t worked. I’d know as soon as I fell asleep if history proved itself tenacious.
“Is that it?” I asked Cyrus as if he knew more than I did.
“I believe so. Now you’re stuck with me and a pocket full of dirt.”
I’ve got a jar of dirt. Or a pocket. Whatever.
“Joy.” At the very least, I was beginning to feel a sense of myself again. The manic lunatic I’d been harboring seemed to be at bay for the time being. Small miracles. “Buy me a drink?”
“Many,” he promised with a grin.
If I couldn’t live a sane and safe life, I might as well be drunk while I lived the fucked-up one I’d been handed. I touched the cool granite which showed my dad’s name. I’d visited him often, so sitting at his headstone wasn’t anything new. Digging at it and asking him for protection against evil made it feel like the first time all over again.
“Bye, Dad,” I whispered. “Love you.”
A breeze flittered my hair around my face. I didn’t know if it was the moment or the magic, but I’d have sworn I heard my dad’s voice at that moment. Either way didn’t matter to me; it was all I needed to press on. He would be my strength, I’d make sure of it. Like Cyrus had said, have faith in yourself. I’d do it or die trying. Preferably the first one.
Believe in yourself, Dylan Hart. Believe. Cheesy as fuck.
Chapter 11
Embrace was at full tilt when Cyrus escorted me through the front doors. It was half-past midnight, and if memory served me correctly, the party would just be getting started. A private club, the bar could stay open all night without a peep from the authorities as long as they stopped charging. Apparently, donations were completely acceptable.
Weaving through the crowd to an empty couch near the back, Cyrus sat me down hospitably before leaving to retrieve drinks and check on things. He was the new jefe, after all. Boss man. Cyrus as Primus was the one thing I couldn’t figure out. Sure he’d explained to me the whats and whys of his being, but his being part of the fang gang was still a mystery. Having nothing better to do with my time for the proceeding twenty-four hours, I thought it was a perfect time to find out.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite chunky monkey,” Dominika said, towering over me.
“Hello to you, too, Dominika,” the chunky monkey said out of the corner of her vexed mouth.
Literally the last person I wanted to see and she plunked her perfect ass right down next to me. “You smell like…have you been digging up corpses? Well, Dylan, I am no one to judge your life, but I am not sure you need any more zombies at your door,” she slurred, obviously three sheets to the wind.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I haven’t been digging up dead bodies. And you’re absolutely right on the zombie front.”
“Oh? Burying the dead? Or live ones? What a delight.” She flittered her fingers and reminded me of Morticia Addams.
“Oh, how I adore our conversations, but if you wouldn’t mind–" I cut myself off. I’d never even considered asking Dominika anything because I thought she’d rip my throat out. But she was Secondus, and without Malcolm to quell her ever-flapping jaw, there was no telling what I’d get out of her. Also, I could’ve won a bet that she was drunker than a blood-sucking skunk. “I wonder if you’d answer a few questions. You see, there are a few details I’m still not clear on.”
“A magyarokról? Hogyne,” she said in what I could only assume was Hungarian—could have been drunken gibberish—and nodded. Her sultry, blue-green eyes glittered in the light, each as penetrating as Cyrus’s once were. Knowing they were different creatures made me wonder why their eyes had the same glimmer and glow effect.
“You see, I was wondering, since Cyrus isn’t…whatever in the fuck you are, how is it that he became Primus and not you? I mean, you’re far more boss material.” A little flattery could go a long way.
“Mhmm,” she chuckled softly and trailed her long red fingernail over the cold skin of my forearm. I’d forgotten about her random sexual preferences. “It was Nicolas who made it so. He loved the little rat.”
“So I heard,” I quipped, recalling the imagery my own imagination had put together for me.
“Then you know what he did to keep him forever.” Apparently, I looked confused because she elaborated. “He convinced a group of men to curse him with immortal life.” Her words slurred but the intent was true.
If Cyrus had known it was the love of his life who had cursed him with his Hell of an existence, he sure as fuck didn’t show it. “So, where does Primus come in to play? And why didn’t he just turn Cyrus into a vampire or whatever you are?”
“Ha! You really are a silly girl.” She caressed my chin. “Vampire is a modern term for modern ideals. I, Nicolas, Malcolm, and the rest,”—I sang the Gilligan’s Island song once in my head before paying attention again—“We’re just like you, born to a moth
er and father. There is no turning a human to an Izcacus.”
“A what?” I couldn’t tell if the word was wonky or her lips, but between booze and her accent the word sounded like a sneeze.
“I prefer the term Izcacus. It’s what my people were called where I was born. You say vampire, I say Izcacus.” I nodded, still not really understanding the word she was using. “We’re all the same. There is no difference from one area to another. Black, white, yellow, it matters not under the skin. We are older than humans by millennia, you know?” She switched topics abruptly.
“You don’t say?” I played into her drunkenness.
“Yes. If your schoolteachers taught our history they’d need more pages than can fit into those fancy books of yours. I’m no scientist, but I say humans didn’t evolve from apes. Humans devolved from Izcacus. Or whatever they’re called other places. You’re weak and fragile. You lack the intuition that your bodies and brains are capable of.”
“If vampires, Izcacus, aren’t made, how are they born?” Egg hatching wasn’t entirely out of the question.
“Heaved from their mother’s cunt like you and I,” she laughed. “Our lives can survive centuries if uninterrupted. We don’t get, what do you call it? Cancer or illness. Our bodies are built to survive.”
“But you have to feed, right? On energy.” I pressed on, eyeing the crowd for Cyrus who I feared could come and stop my interrogation.
“Sure. Blood, energy, same thing. We need food, water and shelter, and all that to be healthy, but we will not die without it. We will die without energy. Some can feed through the energy of the universe, the older of us. Others haven’t learned that skill and must tap into the direct source.” She ran her finger over my neck, sending a chill down to my toes. “Without it, we can become weak. We will age slowly, over time, and eventually die. But that takes centuries.”
“So, you can just get knocked up and pump out a kid like any old bitch can?”
“Oh, no. Creating life takes energy. The little leaches will drain you dry if you let them.” She sighed. “In my day,” she said, as if she were an old woman, “we’d drain brothels in a night and not feed again for weeks. Now, flash a fang and it’s on Boob Tube.”
“YouTube,” I corrected.
“Yeah. Live birth in this century is nearly impossible. Claiming the energy needed to reproduce would bring too much attention to–"
“Wait. What?” My cogs were clicking away. The hamster hadn’t turned in its two-week notice.
“What?” She flopped her head back and gazed into my eyes. She’d been rambling and said more than I was sure she intended to.
“You said you’d need a shit-ton of energy to reproduce. By energy, you mean blood?”
“Mhmm,” she moaned. Obviously flirting with me.
“Great Scott!” I shouted and stood, finger pointed to the sky.
“What is wrong with you, girl?”
“Don’t you see? That’s why Marienne wanted all that blood. She must’ve brought Azelie in to keep it fresh. To keep it energized.” A flash of Bunnicula drumming the Energizer drum flittered through my head and proved how old I was. “Adding the groupie patsies was a terrific ruse. What better way to cover up a vampire murder than blame it on vampires? Look at you. You are exactly what you say you are, but no one questions you because they think you’re nuts or a fadmongler. Marienne didn’t want to stay young, not really; she wanted a baby.”
Suddenly, I felt a little nauseous. It was a shitty way to go about doing it, but all the girl wanted was the one thing most girls wanted. The one thing Mike wanted and I didn’t, in fact.
“What in the hell is going on over here?” Cyrus questioned.
“I’ve figured it out, Cyrus. I did it and it didn’t cost me a thing, except maybe my momentary sexual orientation. Marienne wasn’t vain, not really. She just wanted a baby.” My tone was far too sympathetic.
“Dominika.” He shot eyes in her direction and she laughed.
“Oh, please, Cyrus, the girl was bound to find out. I don’t know why you’re so fucking secretive.”
“So says the girl who threatened my life in two languages because she thought I’d spread the vampy word,” I pointed out sarcastically.
“Oh, bygones.” She stood and wrapped her slender arm around my waist and sniffed at my hair. “You smell like death my darling. What evil follows you?”
“Does everyone know?” I flapped my arms against my legs.
“She doesn’t know?” she asked. Cyrus glared at her, shooting daggers from his pretty eyes. “Darling, you reek of it. I can smell the stench of Hell on you like you’ve bathed in it.”
Her words clamped down on my stomach and didn’t let go. I couldn’t tell if I was going to throw up or shit my pants.
“She’s been marked,” Cyrus said finally and looked away from me.
“Oh, dear. Best we have our fun now then, eh?” She pulled at my limp arm. I couldn’t think of anything but the evil hiding in the darkness around me.
Without a fight, I let Dominika drag me to the bar. The world continued around me at a pace my head couldn’t focus on. I stood, unable to consider my future or relish in my recent epiphany. I’d known there was an evil with me in its sights, but it changed nothing when I discovered I might as well have bathed in eau de Hell. Whatever I’d stepped in, it wasn’t shit and it sure as fuck wasn’t washing off.
Knowing I had a full day before Lupe could do anything with the grassy dirt I had shoved in my pocket, I had two choices: let the crazy take over again, or pull that bitch out and have a drink with her. I chose the latter.
“It’s clean?” I asked suddenly, realizing I’d been staring at a shot of lime-green liquid far too long.
“As clean as it can be,” Cyrus promised, holding a matching glass.
I trusted him, but honestly didn’t care either way. I figured perhaps a trip away from reality was in order. I drank, Dominika drank, and Cyrus pretended to drink. I didn’t know if he was trying to stay sober just in case some beastie burst through the door or he didn’t trust me not to go off the deep end.
Before I knew it, I was on the dance floor, drunk as fuck with Dominika. Bumping, grinding, smearing graveyard dirt all over my leg through my cotton pocket lining. My sweat smelled like booze and I laughed to myself at the idea that maybe I’d sweat the evil off. Unlikely.
“Dylan,” Cyrus said into my ear.
“Yes?” I answered and aimed my drunken mania toward him and away from the Hungarian.
“I think you should get some rest.”
“Do you now?” I pulled him in close.
“Yes, I do.” He didn’t fight me, smiling down at me in the process.
The platonic feelings I had toward him hours before had melted away with the boozey sweat, leaving behind a raw lump of horny, terrified, drunk girl. The combination had embarrassing moment written all over it. There was a part of me that was aware of that fact and figured I was going down anyway, might as well take the scenic route.
“Why don’t you make me?” I laughed and tugged at his shirt playfully.
Without a word, he wrapped his arms around my thick middle and astonishingly hurdled my heavy body over his shoulder like a fireman would. Dominika slapped my ass when he passed her, headed toward the lounge area. Patrons looked and laughed. Some took pictures. I waved at them like I was Queen fucking Elizabeth.
“Sit,” he said and plopped me down on a couch.
“Yes, sir.” I joked. “But you have to sit with me.”
I was sweaty, covered in dirt, and apparently stunk like Hell. Literally. Whatever the fuck I thought I was doing, I was far from sexy and a mile from sane.
“Dylan,” he sighed, “I’m not the one you want,” he said, surprising me.
“And how do you know that?” I pressed on and grabbed his leg.
“Because I know. Please, don’t make this hard.”
“Isn’t that the point?” I boldly moved my hand and pressed it between his l
egs.
Looking down at his dirty jeans, he smiled. “Generally, but in this case, I feel your intentions aren’t true. In fact, there is a growing part of me which doesn’t care, either. But I know it’s not right. You’ve got a fight on your hands, and while you may have your fun tonight, it is only out of fear. I can respect your need to let go tonight when there is nothing but waiting. I can’t let you make a choice you may otherwise not make.”
“What a gentleman,” I said against the skin of his neck. He smelled like sweat and rum, and I was completely okay with that.
“Dylan,” he said, letting out a long breath.
“Yes?” I whispered softly, nearly inaudible over the music. It wasn’t like me to be so forward. Not since I met Mike had I ever felt such a need to touch and be touched.
“It is not me you want,” he repeated.
“I don’t think you know what I want.”
“I don’t think you know, either.”
“I’m okay with that,” I grinned and climbed onto his lap. The primal urge to eat bacon was back but it wasn’t bacon I wanted; it was the Persian between my legs. “I just…” I kissed along his neck. “I just want you and I can’t stop.” My lips clung to his hot skin.
He let me kiss him a moment longer, running his hands up my sticky back. “Dylan.” He pulled me closer, digging his fingers into my soft flesh. “What you’re feeling isn’t true.”
“You don’t know that.” I squeezed his body with my thighs.
“Yes, I do.” His strong hands gripped my thick hips.
“Obviously you’re not in the same moment I am.” I pulled my face from his neck and kissed his perfect lips again, this time letting my mouth linger softly against his.
“I’m not,” he confessed, kissing me back for a second before moving away. “This urge that has consumed you, this need, it’s the thing that squats inside your soul,” he whispered against my skin, pulling my body into his, allowing me to feel his own need. “I want you more than you’ll know, but if I let you continue, I worry it will use the moment to its advantage and consume you completely.”
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