Contents
Pink Lily Rights
Pink Lily Publishing
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
About
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Outlaw
Heather Elizabeth King
Outlaw
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Copyright 2017 © Heather Elizabeth King
Edited by Maggie Bradbury
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.
Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Outlaw
“Do not judge me by my flaws, though they are many”
Umberto Pena
CHAPTER ONE
Bleu Evans’ fingers glided over the sleek neck of the guitar. She reveled in the feel of the taut length of it beneath her fingertips. With a languorous rocking, she rotated her hips, losing herself to the emotions humming through her body.
She was enthralled.
With a soprano howl she opened her eyes, yanked the mic stand close with her left hand, and used it to play eight bars of a bluesy slide guitar riff that ran counterpoint to Kyle’s thumping bass.
She watched Kyle swing his blond mane in time with the music. He ran to the edge of the stage and dropped to his knees. The security guards standing within the flimsy barricade between the stage and audience released a simultaneous shout of warning when the crowd surged forward and a group of teenaged girls tried to scramble over the wooden partition, grasping for Kyle.
Her band, Maven, had ended the show like this every night for the last five weeks, and every night the crowd went wild. It didn’t matter what city they were in or that they were the opening act, the primer for the main event. Every night the crowd cheered them on and every night Bleu reveled in the adoration.
If the Talhari Council knew how thoroughly she was enjoying this assignment they wouldn’t be pleased. This was her first real mission after all.
Her apprenticeship had been far too long and more arduous than anything her male counterparts ever experienced. Doubtless, even with her extensive training she’d never have been given this opportunity to take part in the slaying of the vamp-goth band, Forsaken, if not for the fact that she was the only hunter who could play lead guitar and sing. But even at that the council had only agreed to send her after she’d assured them she wouldn’t question the decisions of Kyle and Nick, two veteran hunters. Kyle, of course, was the CHI, Certified Hunter In-charge. Nick was second in command, and then there was her.
It grated.
Still smarting at the indignities of the setup, she leaned into the mic to sing the last notes of the song before her final guitar solo. A sea of aggressive twenty-something males raised their fists in the air and screamed for more.
Indignities aside, this was one sweet assignment. It’d be hours before her performance high waned, hours before she’d be able to settle in bed and sleep. She was too worked up, too jazzed. Maybe Kyle was onto something when he arranged for the kill to go down at sunrise. Despite all the preparation that had gone into this plan, she’d originally thought five weeks was too soon for a take down. But she supposed that’s why she wasn’t the CHI.
Her fingers danced up the neck of the guitar for the last time. She spun away from the mic, shook her leather clad rear end at the audience, and leapt into the air for the final note. A flash of pyrotechnics erupted from center stage, lighting her in bright orange light for several seconds, then the stage went black.
“Maven! Maven! Maven!” the crowd yelled.
Grinning in the darkness, she turned the volume down on her guitar, disconnected from her rig, slung her guitar over her back, and made her way to the stairs at the rear of the stage. Kyle and Nick moved on ahead of her, walking at a trot. At the bottom of the stairs Trevor, one of their roadies, was positioned with an armful of towels. “Great show, guys. You’re really giving those guys in Forsaken a run for their money.”
Kyle took his towel and grinned. “You bet your ass we are.”
Bleu clasped a towel then drew it over her damp face. She nodded as Bill, another roadie, unhooked her guitar strap and took her guitar from her. “You’ve got one sweet ass, Bleu, and you know how to move it. What I wouldn’t give….”
She bit back the response that perched on the tip of her tongue and forced a smile to her lips. “Dream on, Billy.”
Behind her, Trevor snickered. “I’d watch it if I were you, Bill. Umberto’s already laid his claim. I don’t know about you, but that’s one guy I wouldn’t wanna piss off.”
Again, she had to swallow the automatic response hovering on her lips. The day she allowed herself to be claimed by a vamp was the day she lost her mind.
Bill grimaced. A visible shudder vibrated through him, then he stepped away from her. “I didn’t mean no harm, Bleu.” He held his hand up, as if to stave off an attack. “It was just a compliment. You’re not going to mention I said anything to Umberto, are you? I mean, I was just joking around.”
For the last five weeks, she’d cultivated a relationship with Forsaken’s lead singer. She’d dressed sexy, shoved her body into scanty little dresses, and all but thrown herself at the sinister vampire. She was supposed to adore the vampire, least that’s how her story went. Truth was, and this grated too, she was finding it harder and harder to be offended when someone remarked on her relationship with him. If he were human, if he weren’t a vampire, she’d allow the relationship to develop, but she couldn’t. Umberto wasn’t a man. He was a killer.
What grated even more, or perhaps grated wasn’t the right word. What was stranger than her confused feelings for him were the dreams; the dreams of Umberto, not as he was today, but as he would have been three hundred years ago. Umberto with his hair tied back with a leather sash, Umberto in fine black slacks and white shirts with ornate buttons. Umberto coming out of an imposing stone house, and in every instance, she was with him. She’d be wearing some ridiculously flouncy dress, staring at him with adoration in her eyes. But it wasn’t only adoration she felt for him in those dreams, it was love. She could feel the remnants of that love when she woke.
What did the dreams mean? If it had only happened once she wouldn’t have given the dreams much thought, but she dreamed of him nearly every night. Had been dreaming of him since the night she’d met him. If this were some kind of vampire’s trick, it was one she’d never read about in her studies about vampires.
“Bleu?” Bil
ly’s eyes were wide with concern.
She gave him a coy smile and winked. “We’ll see.”
Kyle tugged her arm. “Come on.”
She finger waved to Billy, then followed Kyle away from the stage area. Nick led the way through the labyrinth of cinder block hallways toward the hole in the wall that was their dressing room, twirling a drumstick between his fingers as he walked. He smiled absently at the groupies milling around the backstage area, “all access” passes hanging like badges of honor around their necks, and the sickly-sweet fragrance of drugstore perfume heavy in the air around them.
“Sons of bitches.” Kyle rubbed at the thick line of black eyeliner under his eyes. His hair was saturated with sweat and clung to his scalp like a skull cap. “They loved us. They wanted a second encore. You’re brilliant, Bleu. You’ve got these guys eating out the palm of your hand … Umberto included.” He said the last part through the communications unit each of them wore. The CU was necessary because it allowed them to converse in whispers, and quiet communication was essential when a kill was going down. The CU was a tiny ear bud connected to a small mic. The ear bud was sensitive enough to pick up anything said into a mic, even if whispered. They wore the CU onstage and, she was told, whenever a kill was going down.
Nick glanced at Bleu over his shoulder, his green eyes flickering with displeasure. She knew what he was thinking, and she didn’t care. She couldn’t afford to care. What had happened to Tom, her predecessor, hadn’t been her fault. She refused to feel guilty for being glad about her good fortune. Hell, she hadn’t even known Tom. “This is only a temporary assignment for you, Bleu, try to remember that. All that showing off you’re doing isn’t going to kill the perps any faster.”
She draped the towel over her bare shoulder and shrugged. “I’m just playing my part.”
Nick flicked his chestnut mane and turned away. “And loving every minute of it.”
“Shut up, Nick. I think Bleu’s performance has been right on target. I’m going to recommend to the council that they let her join the band full time. She’s a real asset.”
Nick shoved the dressing room door open with a boot then strutted inside, speaking loud enough for half the world to hear him. “Do you even care about Tom? We don’t know shit about how he died or how she operates; never saw her do a kill. All we know is she was trained by Gaia Knight. The Council may think the sun rises and sets on Knight, but I say big fucking deal.”
“Shut up, Nick!” Kyle waited for Bleu to enter, then shut the door and set the lock in place. “All I’m saying is the setup seems to be working. Bleu fits the bill more than Tom, we can take out more vamps with Bleu than we ever could have with Tom. She looks like a lead singer.”
Eyes narrowed to slits, Nick sat on the worn-out brown sofa in the far corner of the small, blue and gray room, and regarded her with cool appraisal. “Big tits, round ass, and a pretty little doll face. Yeah, I guess you fit the bill, but you wanna know something, Bleu?”
As usual, Nick was getting on her nerves. Too annoyed to speak with anything that remotely resembled respect, she nodded instead.
“When you put on all that brown, skin-tight leather it’s hard to tell where your skin begins and the leather ends. Makes you look like a whore. More like a groupie than a singer, if you know what I mean. Umberto’s groupie, if you get me.”
It was a challenge to keep from flipping him the bird every time he cut her down. Nevertheless, she turned from Nick, clapped Kyle on the shoulder, and headed for the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower.”
“I’m heading over to the hotel now. You and Nick are going to the mansion at midnight, after the show. You’re riding over in the bus with Forsaken. I’ll be arriving with the team at three; we’ll scan the area then enter the house thirty minutes before sunrise.” He and Nick exchanged a look. “If anything happens, if anything changes, if they do anything that gives you pause, contact me immediately. Understood?”
Nick nodded. “Yeah, I got you.”
Bleu sucked in a breath. This was her first slaying. Everything had to run as smooth as silk or it would be her last. “Understood,” she agreed.
Kyle focused on Nick. “You know what you’re supposed to do while I’m prepping the team?”
“Recon the house one final time, make sure the layout matches the blueprints we made. Check the crypt; make sure there are still four coffins inside. Check the crypt for personal paraphernalia.”
“Bleu?”
Unlike Nick who had respectable duties to perform tonight, she found her own tasks to be an insult to her training.
“Bleu?” Nick demanded from the sofa.
“You know, Kyle, I think I’d be more use if I helped Nick and—”
Kyle shook his head. “What is your assigned duty, Bleu?”
She exhaled. “Distract the band so Kyle can perform his duties without interruption. I’m to stick close to Umberto, because he’s the one the others look to for leadership.”
The edge of Nick’s lip curled into what she could only assume was a grin, though it looked more like a snarl. “Umberto seems to have taken a liking to you so I don’t think you’ll have any trouble keeping him occupied until sunrise.”
“Agreed,” Kyle said. “Make sure the band enters the crypt before sunrise. If they don’t, contact me. It won’t do us any good to go down for the kill if the vamps aren’t even there.”
She nodded. “Understood.”
“Good. I’ll see you both at three.”
She stepped into the bathroom, shut and locked the door.
Sunrise tomorrow. It would be the most important day of her life.
CHAPTER TWO
Bleu was standing at the edge of the stage, grateful that Forsaken’s security hadn’t given her grief about wanting to get a backstage view of the show. For the first three weeks, they hadn’t let anyone who wasn’t part of Forsaken’s personal staff in that area during their performance. Only recently Umberto gave Wolf, the head of security, the okay to let her through.
Now, her plan was to make herself as visible as possible. Let Umberto know she was there and waiting for him to get offstage at the end of the show. She only wished keeping her eyes on him wasn’t so pleasurable. If the dreams would stop, maybe her attraction to him would go away. But how could she stop herself from dreaming?
She was shivering in the backless, red latex dress she’d squeezed into after showering. Latex was good because it was sexy enough to ensure Umberto would remain focused on her, but she also had her full range of motion. She’d need to be able to move—and fast—come morning. She’d left her hair loose and could feel her curls brushing against her bare shoulders. Though she would have preferred to wear it up, Umberto liked it down. Tonight was all about keeping Umberto’s focus on her, by any means necessary.
She was scared…and excited.
Her first slaying.
But could she kill Umberto? Could she drive a stake through his heart? She’d spent so much time with him these last weeks. Maybe too much time.
“Get off your ass!”
Pulled from her musings, Bleu looked toward the stage. Umberto stood at the center of everything, fist raised in the air, his lips pulled into a snarl. To the left of him, Dario, the lead guitarist, whipped his sable mane back and let his fingers dance up the neck of his guitar.
It was watching Dario that had convinced her that indeed, the members of Forsaken weren’t human. Dario, the golden-skinned, South American vampire whose fingers moved over the guitar fretboard faster than even the most talented human hands could manage. Dario wore his vampirism boldly. Unlike the others, he made no attempt to hide what he was. His hair was black as midnight and it glimmered with an unnatural luminescence no human hair could attain. Like an actor playing the part of vampire, he painted his nails a deep shade of ebony. He even let his fangs show when he was onstage. Fans thought he was a Goth kid, an eccentric that fell into character whenever given the chance. Nobody realized he wasn’t playing a role.
The fangs weren’t pretend, and he’d killed countless people with them.
On the far right of the stage was Erik, the bass player—another vamp. As pale as Dario was dark and brooding, Erik was the opposite of Dario. He seemed more an elfin figure, a character from a Tolkien story. Save his pale complexion, he looked too gentle to be what he was … and what he was, was a killer. His serene, elfin features were rounded and prettily made. As she watched him he crouched on his knees and bent forward, toward the crowd. His pale blond hair swept the jet-black stage like a thousand strands of platinum silk. Erik was beautiful. Disarmingly beautiful, yet he was deadlier than Dario, had killed more people. Erik was young, barely a hundred years old, so the blood lust was strong in him.
The youngest of Forsaken, and the most human to the eye, was the drummer, Mathias. He was the only American. The file she’d read on the band said he’d been made in 1957 in—of all places—New Jersey. His short, spiky hair was pure white in color. Mathias had been a tall man when he was alive. His six-and-a-half-foot frame towered over her five-foot-four-inch body. In addition to being tall, he was mean. Mathias had the disposition of an alligator shark. And although his blood lust was strong, reports showed that he didn’t take as much pleasure in the kill as Erik.
Then there was Umberto.
She closed her eyes and exhaled.
Umberto was the oldest, but had experienced the shortest human existence. He’d only had twenty-nine human years when he’d been made into a bloodsucker. No one knew when he was made, only that he had been born centuries ago. Umberto had disarmingly handsome features. He was tall, slender, and artfully unkempt. His wavy, shoulder-length, brown hair was as prettily disheveled as any other disgustingly rich lead singer’s hair would have been half way through a performance. There was nothing remarkable in the jeans he chose to wear onstage, or the faded Harley Davidson T-shirts he seemed to favor. From the sterling silver ring on the middle finger of his left hand to the simple pendant he kept dangling from his neck, Umberto seemed very ordinary. But Bleu was willing to wager that more than the others, Umberto’s look was the most contrived. Though she’d never heard him say it, she knew enough about Umberto to know he’d more than likely spent days creating the most unremarkable look he could manage. And he’d failed miserably. Unexceptional clothes, rumpled hair, there was nothing in his façade that could hide what he was. At least not to her eyes. His finely muscled frame was too extraordinary to be hidden under clothes. His hair shone with the same vampiric luminescence as Dario’s raven locks. And Umberto’s eyes…
Outlaw (A Tale of the Talhari Book 2) Page 1