by Claire Marta
“May I point out that I do not even know if she could ever feel the same way about me as I do for her? I also very much doubt Jasmine would wish to become a vampire.” Eric’s grip flexed on the steering wheel. It was something he’d only contemplated once, and that had been to save her life in Paris. Yet, the thought was enticingly appealing. Jasmine would be his eternally...
“Take her on a few dates, buy her some flowers, and ask her. In all these centuries, I never once thought we’d be giving Eric romance advice.” Conall laughed teasingly.
“You make it sound so simple.” Eric changed gears. He was alert to the ebb and flow of the traffic. Some of the Italian drivers could be unpredictable, and he knew he had to be aware of every vehicle.
“I suggest you slow down. The boy will think he’s lost us, and we can use the element of surprise,” Raoul advised quietly.
At his friend’s suggestion, he eased up on the gas.
“Either way, we’d welcome her into our family with open arms. You know that Eric,” Conall persisted as he raked a hand through his gelled, red hair.
“She is with someone else,” Eric pointed out as his grip tightened dangerously on the steering wheel. Someone he called an ally. A friend.
“Aye and we’ve been dancing around who. We all know the powers Asier wields. Did you really think she could resist him?” the Irishman replied sardonically.
“Can we please focus on the task at hand?” Eric snapped with growing irritation. This was something best discussed at another time. A car accident was something they didn’t need if he lost his temper.
“Even though seeing you rattled is entertaining, I think I like it more when you’re a cold, unfeeling bastard.”
“He’s not slowing down,” Raoul warned, drawing their attention to the scene ahead.
If anything, the boy seemed to be going faster. Did he suspect they were still tailing him? Was he in a hurry to get back to the safety of his father’s villa?
Horn blasting, he shot through a green light, barely missing a swarm of pedestrians. Not long after, Eric followed. It was only his quick reflexes that stopped him from taking out fleeing tourists as they ran for the safety of the pavement.
Valentino’s car abruptly began to swerve. He seemed to be having trouble maintaining control.
Eric saw a glimpse of blonde hair. It looked like the girl he had as a hostage decided to fight back, once more. The timing was appalling.
Wheels squealed as they hit the barrier. Somehow, the other drivers managed to avoid ploughing into them. The sound of metal screeching, as it clashed with metal, filled the air. Then, the car juddered oddly. A moment later, it flipped. Spinning in the air, it rolled over and over.
Eric held a breath. He could tell from the angle and the impact it was a serious crash. One that could take lives. Hitting the road back on its wheels one last time, it spun to the side. Horns blaring and people screaming grew in a chorus as they fled. Stamping his foot down on the break, Eric slammed the Mercedes to a halt.
Lunging out of the car, he ran towards the crash. He needed to act fast.
“Keep the people back,” Eric hollered to his comrades, knowing they were hot on his heels. Raoul and Conall dropped back without a word. He knew they would obey his command.
Sprinting to the wreck, his gaze danced over every inch of damage. The front was a crumpled mess. On the passenger side, the paint had been sheered clean off, but it still looked intact. Grasping the handle, Eric gingerly yanked it open. He was met with a tad of resistance, but with his strength, he effortlessly ripped the door from its hinges.
“Help me!” Valentino was screaming. Crimson was gushing from his right nostril. One eye swollen shut, it looked like his head was cushioned against the air bag, which had deployed.
One glance told Eric that his legs were trapped beneath the front of the vehicle, which was crushed forwards beyond repair.
Blood. The smell thickened the air, already filled with the smell of leaking fuel.
“Get me out of here. NOW,” the boy continued to order as he smashed his palms down uselessly on the bent steering wheel.
Eric ignored his demands. Instead, he yanked the passenger seat away to get to the back. The girl was on the floor.
Surveying her, he was relieved to find her breathing and alive. Hands bound and the gag still secured in her mouth, it looked like she had managed to get her feet free. Ripped in places, the pretty floral, white and yellow dress she was wearing looked barely intact.
Bruises painted one side of her face and throat. The imprint of rough hands was vivid and red on her arms. Through a mess of long golden hair, she watched him with fearful baby blue eyes.
Eric could only imagine what had been done to her. Every thought made him feel sick. She was a victim of Valentino’s greed and almost lost her life because of it.
“Have no fear, little one. I am here to help you,” Eric assured her softly in Italian.
Reaching down, he noted when she flinched. In any other circumstance, he would’ve taken his time to reassure her, but it was running out. He knew well that any minute the car could go up in flames. The smell of fuel was getting stronger. It would only take one misplaced spark. If that happened, then they would all die in a flaming ball of fire and heat.
Quickly, he untied her. Reaching for the gag, he pulled if from her mouth. She whimpered in response.
The thought of not seeing Jasmine again spurred Eric on. An image of his woman’s sated, happy smile flashed through his head. Her pale slender limbs tangled with his as he had taken her over and over. It was something he needed to see again. Feel again.
As gently but firmly as he could, he scooped the injured girl up. Her heart was beating rapidly, and he could scent her growing fear. Although she was dazed, it wouldn’t take long for her to realise the situation.
Having her panic was not what he needed. Not if they were to escape in one piece.
“Everything will be all right, Carina. Trust me,” he murmured, letting persuasion seep into his words to soothe her. A smile fluttered on her lips at the endearment. Then, he felt her sink into him as she relaxed.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Valentino was snarling. “Leave the whore. Help me, get me out.” Throwing himself back against his seat, he struggled to break free.
Eric ignored him. His priority was the innocent in his arms, not the monster who had hurt her.
“Eric…I can help you…give you Dasyurus…just get me out.”
Careful not to hurt his fragile load, Eric clambered out of the wreckage. “You are nothing but his pawn, and now, you have failed him. He won’t have any use for you, and neither do I.”
Without a backward glance, Eric exited the mangled car. Valentino began to scream his name. He could see Conall and Raoul holding back an increasing crowd. Clutching his precious cargo closely, he began to run towards them.
Leaving Valentino to his death left Eric with no sense of remorse. It was an emotion he rarely felt. The boy’s fate was sealed the moment he made the bargain with the devil of a doctor. Death had always been the inevitable end.
Eric knew he probably had only moments left before the car went up. A sense of urgency gripped him. The only thought in his head was for Jasmine. He needed to see her. Look into those green eyes he loved so much. Kiss her soft lips. Tell her of his love. Confess what was in his heart. His trepidation, his uncertainties, no longer mattered, nor the fact the girl was with Asier.
An explosion rocked the night air. Heat seared his back as he shielded the girl. Her muffled scream joined those in the throng as they backed away in disbelieve and fright.
Staggering forwards, Eric gritted his teeth against the pain. An image of Jasmine urged his legs onwards.
“Eric?” Conall called out in concern, taking a few steps towards them.
“I’m fine.” Blocking out the discomfort roaring through his shoulders and along his spine, he advanced forwards. “Phone for an ambulance. This girl will need some
medical attention, and no doubt, her family will need to be notified.”
“I’m on it.” Conall nodded as he hurriedly slipped out his phone.
Those gathered gave a little cheer. People calling out in relief that someone had been saved unaware of the body still burning in the hunk of twisted metal on the road.
A woman ran up with a blanket. As Eric lowered the female to her feet, she was immediately wrapped within its comforting warmth. Sobbing, she allowed the newcomer to take her in her arms.
For a brief second, her gaze found Eric’s. A wealth of emotion shone in her eyes. Gratitude, relief. Then, she was being led away into a group of fussing bystanders to await the emergency services.
Eric stood, watching passively. He could feel the damage in his back already mending. The burnt flesh beginning to heal slower than he would’ve liked. What he needed to do now was feed. But more pressing matters consumed him.
He needed to go to Jasmine. Only when he was at her side would be feel some measure of peace. Eric knew he’d been a coward. If he truly loved her, then he would tell her how he felt. What he wanted to do was see if she could forgive him. Only then could he seek a way to find her love, regain her affections. He couldn’t let this slip through his fingers.
“She’s in Budapest,” Raoul’s voice informed him, breaking into his thoughts.
Cocking his head, Eric met his friend’s unwavering gaze.
“Before you ask, your face becomes very expressive when you think of her. You need to practise blanking that, or it will lead you into trouble.”
“A weakness…” Eric voice deepened with annoyance. They were drawing attention. Dried blood stained the front of his companion’s chauffeur outfit. Conall was covered in dust and grime. The back of Eric’s suit had been ruined by the blast, and cool air was playing over the burns that were still in the process of knitting back together.
Raoul shook his head, his honey coloured eyes amused. “Love is not a weakness, Eric. Emotions are not your enemy. They just make you more like the rest of us and not an unfeeling robot.”
Perhaps his friend was right. “I should stay and help.”
“No”–Raoul clasped his shoulder– “go to Jasmine. Apologise and repair the damage you have done. I have already phoned the jet and a blood donor will be waiting aboard. Feed, rest. Then, go and find her. There’s no reason to keep torturing yourself.”
Raoul’s attention strayed to the victim. He was watching her with sympathy. Compassion was something he’d always had, a deep understanding of others.
Eric briefly contemplated the gathering. More people had been drawn to the scene. The wail of sirens could be heard escalating closer.
“How did you know I would change my mind and go after her?” he asked, watching the coloured flashing lights in the distance.
Raoul chuckled. “Because it was obvious you were fighting a losing battle. Not even you, Eric, with your logic, can win against love.”
Eric watched him walk off to the incoming paramedics.
Jasmine.
Heart speeding up at the very thought of her name, he knew it was time. Striding purposefully towards the Mercedes, Eric tugged the keys from his pocket. It wouldn’t take long to get to the private airport. He could be in the air within the next hour and half, if all was ready.
“Conall, I will see you back in London,” he called as he passed the Irishman, who was chatting with some nosey tourists.
Bewildered, he turned. “Aye, but where are you off to?”
Eric didn’t stop moving. “Budapest to find Jasmine.”
“About bloody time,” Conall responded with a cheeky grin.
“Why do I feel like we’re staying in the Budapest branch of the Bates Motel?” Jasmine whined under her breath as she leaned towards her friend. Shifting uneasily, she grimaced as the movement made her aware of the sheen of sweat that layered her body. It was a hot July evening. Even at night, this city left you sticky.
They were standing in the middle of a sitting room. Clocks of every shape, size, and description cluttered the walls and surfaces of the antique sideboards. Many of them had long ago given up the will to tick. Instead, they remained silent. Their handmade surfaces now soulless of purpose and, instead, silent witnesses to the occupants of the house. It was, in fact, one of the less bizarre rooms in the Musee Grotesque they’d seen so far.
They’d been given a brief tour upon arrival by the housekeeper. After viewing some of the exhibits, Jasmine wasn’t sure she’d sleep soundly ever again. A two-faced baby in a jar of formaldehyde, severed feet, shrunken heads, shrivelled corpses, the list of things housed in the place went on and on. The museum was unsettling and gruesome.
Her skin prickled with awareness whenever they came close to anything that was touched by magic. It was one of her increasing gifts, an ability to sense and seek out magical objects. They vibrated on a frequency Jasmine was becoming more and more accustomed to every day. She no longer had to concentrate to feel them.
“It’s just not me, then, who finds this place creepy as fuck,” Gemma replied, the smell of strawberry chewing gum heavy on her breath. She’d been going through packets like a child on a sweet binge. Any mention of slowing down made her eye twitch.
Jasmine had no clue why she was fixating on the need to chew right now, but it seemed to help calm her. With a glance, she took in her friend’s glistening face. Her usual long curly tight ringlets were frizzy from the heat. For once, Gemma was not perfectly preened. The thin cotton t-shirt she was wearing hugged her large breasts. Across the front was written ‘I do dead people’. Beneath was a cartoon drawing of a coffin.
“It definitely has the poltergeists are us vibe going on for it,” Jasmine continued as she bit on her thumb nail. Creepy was something she hated. Vampires, werewolves, hell give her a troll, and she was happy to handle it. But this? This just pressed buttons inside her head. A fear of the unseen. That feeling of being watched by hidden eyes. It was enough to send normal people screaming.
“Will you stop complaining?” Mark, their boss, scolded as he appeared in the doorway, making them both jump. “We’re here on business; this isn’t a bloody holiday destination.” He was grouchier than usual. This mission was personal. A close friend of his had died under mysterious circumstances, and they were here to investigate. Hands on his hips, he stared at them over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses. Chestnut hair recently cut a little shorter, his boyish features were stern.
“Has the translator turned up yet?” Fergus questioned from his position by the window, finally breaking his silence. The wolf on their team was still feeling crabby from their flight over. He wasn’t a fan of flying. Whenever they took him on an assignment abroad, he was sedated on the journey. Not even the charm of Budapest in July with its mix of old and new picturesque architecture could lift his mood. Turning, his amber eyes fixed on their boss.
“No. I’m having trouble convincing someone to come. The locals are terrified of the ghost rumours and won’t set foot in here, especially with the blood moon approaching.”
From what Jasmine could gather, everyone thought the place was cursed. Not surprising when its last owner had raved about spirits plaguing him before taking a nose dive off the roof. Strange noises had been reported at night. Apparitions had also been spotted within the walls of the museum.
It really did have that disturbing as fuck vibe. The fact they were also staying there did not help her blood pressure. Jasmine had a feeling a good night’s sleep was something they’d all be lacking in the next few days.
“Blood moon?” Brows furrowing in confusion, she stared enquiringly at Mark. It was a term she wasn’t familiar with.
“It’s the only night in the year the moon is red. That’s the usual human term for it, a red moon. Shifters lose themselves, completely, to their animal sides,” he explained patiently.
“What do you mean lose?” she asked, her tone turning wary. This was something she hadn’t encountered before. Normally,
she was well read up on these events, but this was new.
“We get all horny and hairy,” Fergus joked. Raising a hand, he ran it over his smooth bald head. “We’re more submerged in our feral side during that night in particular.”
“No change there, then”–Gemma teased– “you’ve always been a horn dog.” Blowing a perfect pink bubble, she let it pop, smearing the sticky residue across her pouty lips.
This didn’t satisfy Jasmine’s curiosity. Although her friends were light-hearted, she could sense the underlying tension. “So, you go chasing rabbits? Or do we need to hide all the local virgins from your animal lust?”
Mark shared a look with Fergus. Nudging his chin in Jasmine’s direction, he nodded his approval.
The wolf exhaled gustily. “No, Jasmine. We go somewhere we won’t hurt anyone or lock ourselves up somewhere we can’t get out. We become our beasts in every sense of the word and lose our grip on humanity completely.”
Jasmine stared at him in alarm. Before she could ask anything more, the housekeeper came rushing into the room. Face weather beaten in age, her portly frame was clothed in a flowery summer dress. When they first arrived, her body language had spoken of disapproval. This hadn’t changed. White hair swept up in a tidy bun, her azure blue eyes were shrewd and watchful. Hands in the air, she was waving them in panic. They didn’t understand what she was saying. Unfortunately, none of them spoke the local language.
As the woman babbled, they all watched helplessly as she wiggled her head from side to side.
“I think the translators here. Caroline will be down soon for the séance,” Mark said with a hint of relief. As the old housekeeper beckoned to Mark, he and Fergus eagerly accompanied her.
Jasmine and the team had only been there a handful of hours, and Caroline, the daughter of the man who had died, had yet to make an appearance. Only their boss had spoken to her. Too distraught over what happened the week before, she hadn’t left her room. How she could remain in the building or even live in such a place, Jasmine wasn’t sure. If there were evil spirits making their home here, then why would you stay? Especially with a child. Caroline’s daughter, Tabitha, was six years old. The housekeeper and a nanny had been looking after her since her mother was in no fit state.