Deathless (The Vein Chronicles Book 2)

by Anne Malcom

  I quirked my brow. “They promised you eternal life and you didn’t think such a thing would come with pain and blood and a lot of fucking strings? My, my, you are a stupid one. This is, of course, considering I believe the demon who is telling me, or at least insinuating, that he was once human. Which is too much for even my crazy. Do I look new?” I paused. “Of course I do, because I’m immortal. But I’m not an idiot. I’m not concerned with the steaming holes you pop out of as fully formed, human-shaped monsters, mainly because the humans are also human-shaped monsters. But seriously? You know this will take so much longer if you cling to lies.”

  “I’m not lying, I swear. Until a year ago I was just working at a gym, trying to get my break in the fitness model industry and fighting with my girlfriend about whether or not the baby was mine. It wasn’t,” he added, as if I might care.

  “Well, thankfully for that child,” I muttered.

  “And then someone came to the gym, asked me if I wanted more than what I had—proper strength, a better life. A forever life.” He paused. “It’s weird, you’d think I would’ve kicked a stranger out who said that, but he was just so convincing. I knew it couldn’t be possible but I knew it was true. You know?”

  I sighed. Sometimes ignorance and stupidity were endearing. That truth we were talking about earlier? The one that took up all the space? Well, it seemed to fit into empty minds every once in a while.

  I sighed. “So you’re expecting me to believe you were just turned for no reason, apart from to kill a human cop? And that if someone was choosing from the humans around here to make immortal, that someone would chose you?”

  A poor choice.

  He shrugged, crying out at the pain the motion gave him. I imagined he was feeling the effects of the magic like acid at that point.

  Wondrous.

  “I don’t know, I just know that it wasn’t a nice process, becoming this,” he hissed.

  I rolled my eyes. “No way? Turning a human into a demon was painful? Gosh, that’s not a surprise at all. It’s a little more invasive than a nose job, and those are meant to smart a little too, if those extreme makeover shows are anything to go by. But I couldn’t care less about your poor little human body transitioning into a demon, despite it being impossible,” I continued, leaning forward. “I’m more interested in the police officer you got killed and then some information on your superiors.”

  He blinked. “I tell you, you’ll take the knife out?”

  I grinned. “Sure.”

  He sucked in a breath as steam continued to rise. “I didn’t kill any cop. I just drove the van,” he said quickly. “Took him to where I’ve been taking people since they turned me into this.” He glanced down at his steaming arms. “I took the people down there to him, and they never came back.” He paused, eyes flickering with something—humanity, perhaps. “Some I kept for myself because that’s what I need to do. He told me that, to live forever, I have to….”

  “Kill?” I finished for him. “Of course you do. Immortality doesn’t come for free.”

  He swallowed. “Yeah. But now I’m thinking it might not have been worth it.”

  I shook my head. “You think? Keep talking,” I demanded, not wanting him to think that he could tell me all of his regrets, which I thought should have started with the tattoos and not letting witches turn him into a demon.

  “So, after I knocked him out, I took the cop there. Didn’t expect to bring him out, but I had my orders. Bring him out and put him outside some fancy apartment. That’s it. That’s all I did, I swear.”

  I smiled at him. “Oh, I believe you.”

  “So you’ll take the knife out?”

  “I’m a vampire of my word,” I told him. Then I wrenched the blade from his thigh, inspecting the black- and red-tinged blood on the steel. “One more thing,” I said, looking up at him. “The place you took him, you got an address?”

  He nodded rapidly and rattled it off.

  “And that’s everything?” I clarified.

  “I promise.”

  “Great,” I replied.

  I plunged the knife into his temple.

  Then I decided it was time to eat.

  Hopefully the killing had tarnished my soul enough to help me survive my next meal.

  And maybe Thorne would too.

  It was his heartbeat I heard before the roared “Isla” when I waltzed into his house.

  I may have accidentally broken the door off the hinges while coming in. It was his fault for locking it, really. He was a slayer with immortal enemies; what the fuck would a locked door do anyway?

  Plus, I liked being able to bring destruction upon his house. I hadn’t ruled out burning it to the ground on my way out.

  He burst forth from where he’d been sitting at the dining table sharpening knives, a couple of books scattered around him and an empty glass beside a half-full bottle of whisky.

  At least it was the good stuff.

  His eyes flared at the singed remains of my shirt and the slightly pink skin from the burns that were stubbornly slow in healing.

  “What the fuck happened?” he demanded, eyes roving over me to determine whether there were any other parts suffering the similar fate.

  His emotions were only a twinge in the air. I could barely taste the flavor of them, guessing it was because of the lack of his blood in my veins. I should have been thankful, but then why did the air feel so damn empty without knowing his emotions were attached to mine?

  I kept my face even.

  “Demon. Long story. One I don’t want to tell you. We have that in common, not wanting to tell each other long stories. Mine doesn’t really rival yours, considering it doesn’t sever relationships and turn centuries of belief on its head. But it is a doozy. And has fire.” I held up my arms. “And blood. But of course, all the good stories do.”

  I narrowed my eyes at the flickering intensity in his and steeled myself against the strong urge to let him do what his gaze was telling me he yearned to do—namely snatching me into his arms and likely ripping my clothes off before owning me right there.

  I tingled between my legs at the thought.

  I made a mental note to get laid after this.

  But the thought of going to someone else, letting someone else into the body that I had given Thorne without realizing I’d taken it from myself, it roiled my stomach much the same way the idea of taking another’s blood did.

  But I wasn’t going to die from the wrong penis.

  It was the ‘right’ one that may kill me yet.

  “I didn’t come to chat. Or exchange soulful stares, as seems to be your preference,” I continued. “I came for a snack. I’ve got a big battle coming up and I need to be at my best. You see, I didn’t want to see you. Actually, I would have done literally anything, even worn plaid, if it meant I didn’t have to see you. But it seems that a girl’s gotta eat, so she’s just gotta do things like face the asshole who broke her—” I cut myself off quickly before I could say the word ‘heart’ like some big idiotic girl from some Ryan Reynolds romcom. I watched that shit for shirtless Ryan, not for the women who made me cringe for our entire race in general.

  “Trust,” I finished, watching the way his eyes flared with something at the single word. “So here I am. Open a vein so I can get this over with and we might get through this with both of us surviving. If I kill you, I die too. And I’m rather attached to surviving.”

  His eyes didn’t move from mine. Neither did his hands, which were fisted at his sides and shaking from what I knew was the pressure of wanting to touch me.

  I knew it because mine were doing the same, yet my arms were crossed casually across my chest, and I did a good job at hiding the outwards rattling of my broken pieces.

  Inside, it was almost as deafening as Thorne’s heartbeat.

  He stepped forward. An inch. Too much. I could taste his emotions and the depth of them. The blood running through his veins called to me just like those muscled arms, that musky sc
ent and the promise that was more than blood.

  And that was everything in the blood.

  Life.

  Death

  “You die, Isla,” he growled, “and I die. And the world, it seems. I’m not one to give two fucks about the world. It can burn in front of me as long as I’ve got you by my side. So no way am I going to let you die. Even if that means I have to do whatever I can to stop you from killing me.”

  I grinned at him. “You want me not to kill you? How about you stop breathing?” I requested sweetly. “Or blowing out any of that hot air you call words and the dream that you seem to have that I’ll ever be by your side again.” I kept my smile because that was the battle armor I wore to the worst of the wars between my heart and soul. A woman to be feared was one who smiled while inside a battle raged. “But I love breaking dreams almost as much as I love breaking in new shoes.”

  Another inch, another rattle of my teeth at the proximity of his heartbeat, at the blood that called to me louder than Chanel, than anything ever before. That turned the burning in my throat into an inferno like the one that had been burning in the demon’s eyes. The one I couldn’t feel.

  I thought it was because I was made of ice.

  And perhaps I was.

  Perhaps there was only one fire that could melt me.

  And destroy me.

  “You’re my dream,” he growled, his voice thick, eyes almost dark.

  “Well that’s where you made your mistake. I don’t live in dreams. I’m undead in all your nightmares.”

  He stayed put. “You’re not going to let me explain shit, are you? Apologize?”

  I glared at him. “An apology is the weapon of a weak man, Thorne. Or of a devious asshole. Which one are you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  The slight tilt of his head, baring his throat, was the only thing I needed. Or the last thing that shattered whatever self-control I’d been kidding myself I had. But it was the self-control of consciously not biting him straight away, torturing myself with his mere presence because, despite the lies I told him—and, more importantly, myself—it was his company and his words I craved almost as much as his blood.

  But then my fangs sank into his neck like butter and the explosion of heat and ambrosia on my tongue made me forget about anything but blood.

  And Thorne.

  I registered the way his hands went around me, pulling me closer to him, imprinting his body on mine while I brought his lifeblood into my veins.

  His hands tangled in my hair, tearing at it with force, not to stop me but to urge me on.

  I also registered the movement of those hands to roughly knead my ass and then lift me.

  A slave to instinct the second my fangs pierced his skin, I wrapped my legs around his waist as I continued to drink my fill of his blood.

  Let it warm me up.

  Let it melt me.

  Let it destroy me.

  For who wouldn’t welcome destruction if it was like this? The world destroyed everything, after all; why not make my own destruction as beautiful and as ugly as it could be?

  The hands that had been at my hair returned once more.

  He grabbed a palmful, circled it around his wrist. And yanked.

  Hard.

  There was pain.

  From the pressure at my neck, but mostly from the aching of my fangs being yanked away from the blood that found its home inside of me.

  I hissed at his black eyes, not entirely human and not entirely vampire at that moment. Somehow I was both and yet neither.

  I was one thing.

  Thorne’s.

  Because he didn’t flinch in the face of the danger and death I felt like promising him for yanking me from my meal. No, he welcomed it, his eyes electrifying and then slamming my mouth to his.

  I didn’t hesitate to return the kiss.

  It wasn’t kind. Nor gentle. Nor soulful.

  Because that wasn’t what real life was.

  Or real death.

  It was brutal, rough and most likely fatal.

  His teeth sank into my lips and I cried out at the rush of blood that spilled into both of our mouths, burning us more, setting the house on fire.

  Then my head was yanked back again and I unleashed my monster once more.

  Only to see I was staring in the face of another one.

  “This is it, Isla. Death. With you. It’s a lifetime of death, and you’re not fuckin’ escaping that. You’re deathless, but you’re always gonna have death following you.” The words of prophecy, repeated on his rough and garbled voice in the face of our current position, gave the words something they didn’t have before. Something that made them settle somewhere they hadn’t before.

  “I’m always gonna be followin’ you. At your side. Inside you. Fightin’ with you. Fightin’ for you. And that’s eternity.” His hand tightened as he threw me down on the bed, the legs creaking in protest at the force. I stayed there, chained by his words, his gaze.

  Then it wasn’t his gaze or words holding me down. It was him. His body covered mine, but not before he ripped my ruined clothes from my body in less than a blink.

  I did the same to him, shredding his tee, raking my nails over his corded skin and reveling in the smell of blood in the air.

  He leaned forward and covered my exposed nipples with his mouth, roughly sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh.

  His hand at my hip bit painfully into the skin, intensifying the building of my climax.

  His roughness made me feel gentle and strong at the same time.

  Every inch of my body yearned for attention from him, but then my soul and my mind battled.

  Hence me quickly moving so I was on top, the bedframe rattling on its hinges at the force I used to slam his body against the mattress.

  He showed his teeth in a feral growl as I gained the upper hand, until he reached up to circle my neck, squeezing painfully at the same time he yanked me down to his mouth for a clash of the two.

  My fangs brushed at his lips, cutting them in the ferocity, adding to the craziness of the kiss as I drank the droplets that came from him.

  Then I detached, quickly moving a hand up to circle his wrists and stretch them over his head as the other worked at his belt.

  He hissed out a rough breath as my fingers grazed his hard flesh. The waves of his arousal that poured into me through our newly reinforced connection sent me half wild with need.

  “Isla,” Thorne growled.

  I snapped my gaze up to him through hooded eyes, flexing my grip on his wrists so the pressure worked at the bones almost to their breaking point. He didn’t break eye contact with me, nor did he betray any amount of pain.

  In fact, a fresh wave of desire flooded through me, and the flesh at my palm twitched once with the movement.

  My anger somehow found its voice at that moment.

  “This isn’t us. This isn’t beauty. Nor is it forgiveness. This is nothing,” I hissed, moving my body atop his, pinning him down while reveling in the control and my own wild need.

  His eyes flared at my words, his initial response momentarily lost as I impaled myself on him, blinding both of us to anything but our connection as I began my frantic movements.

  The sounds of Thorne’s heavy breathing and the creaks of the bed and the brutal thump of our coupling poured into the empty air for an eternity, mingling with the roar of Thorne’s heartbeat.

  Then eternity ended and I lost purchase on Thorne’s wrists. Our connection remained as he tumbled us through the air so I landed forcefully on my back, the feet on the bed collapsing at the same time as he surged into me in a brutal thrust.

  “You’re wrong,” he growled, not stopping the assault of his thrusts, his eyes on mine. “Nothing between us? It’s fucking everything. And it will be. For eternity.”

  And then there was eternity once more. Lost in each other without the words of whatever had haunted us and details that had ruined us.

  But then even eternity end
ed.

  As it often did.

  I was thankful that I had superhuman speed at many points in my life. When I really needed to get across town before Barneys closed and traffic was a nightmare, for example. And after succumbing to the bloodlust and sinking my fangs into Thorne, succumbing to everything I was fighting against and letting him sink into me.

  Yeah, it was helpful after lying in the remains of a bed we’d broken amidst feathers from pillows we’d ripped apart at some point. Lying in his arms, a moment of gentle in the brutal episode that had been our hate-making. I wouldn’t call it the other thing.

  Not to myself.

  I wouldn’t utter that word, even in my head. Words uttered in your head posed much more danger than the ones said out loud. I was of that opinion, anyway.

  He had been running his hands through my hair, softly untangling the knots he’d created, his other hand clutching me to the expanse of his scarred chest that I’d come to know so well. For in it resided the beating heart that held whatever was left of me after all the years of being the soulless monster I was.

  “Isla,” he murmured.

  It was the softness of his voice and touch that worked. Better than brutality or pain or ugliness, because all that was part of the status quo. The phrase ‘kill them with kindness’ existed for a reason. Mainly because kindness was the only thing that could really kill someone who’d only known cruelty.

  Cruelty could be learned to weather against. Fight against.

  Not the kindness and tenderness and the gentle touch of after-sex with the person whose heart beat with the power of the demon inside you.

  It shocked me into movement.

  I didn’t think he was expecting it. In fact, I was sure of it, considering the gentle pressure on my shoulders didn’t do anything to make me pause as I darted from the bed. I was a blur, even to his eyes, snatching some clothes I’d left in his closet in days of ignorance and shoving them on quickly.

  Not quick enough, because even with the speed of an immortal, buttoning a shirt with fake nails on was still a total bitch.

  Even when I was trying to do it while walking, not running—because I didn’t run, just walked with a purpose—to my car in order to get the fuck out of Dodge.