Pretty When They Collide: A Novella in the Pretty When She Dies Universe (Volume 4)

by Rhiannon Frater

  Finally, she let the orb dissipate. Slipping her arms behind her back, she fingered the spells tucked into her waistband. “I’ll come willingly. Please, don’t shoot.” Her head lowered, Aimee slowly walked past the fallen bodies toward Frank and his two men.

  “I want this fucking mess cleaned up. I want a bullet in Michael’s head and I want my fucking dhamphir chained up in so much silver she won’t be able to fucking move!” Frank’s face was flushed red with rage.

  “The backup team is sweeping through the downstairs. We’ll have it under control shortly,” Ivan said briskly.

  “I should have listened to you about Michael,” Frank huffed. “This was all a gawdamn fucking setup to snatch my dhamphir and witch.”

  Aimee drew closer to Frank, her fingers inching toward an incineration spell. She gingerly stepped over another body.

  Rolling to his feet, Arnost grabbed Aimee about the waist, jerked her back against his body, and held her as a shield before him.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Frank exclaimed. “You left him alive, idiot!”

  Ivan scrambled to draw a bead on Arnost. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Yes, you will, moron!” Frank huffed with disgust.

  Aimee groaned with irritation. Her hands were pinned against Arnost’s stomach. She had almost been close enough to Frank to set the bastard on fire when he had snagged her.

  “Frank, I’ll be leaving now with my witch,” Arnost said firmly. Stumbling backward toward the broken sliding glass door, the Serbian vampire dragged Aimee with him. Ivan tracked them, the pistol never wavering. Outside, Aimee could hear Cassandra and Michael still battling.

  “Kill Arnost, and get me Aimee!” Furious, Frank kicked one of the dead men. Frank’s eyes blazed red. “Shoot him, Ivan!”

  Arnost tugged Aimee closer. He reeked of the coppery smell of blood and she realized he was wounded.

  Though she should’ve been afraid, she wasn’t. The power inside her was waiting for her command and if she could get her hands free, she had plenty of spells. The gun didn’t frighten her and neither did any of the men in the room. Gaze fastened on Frank, she realized that she only feared him.

  Using the last of her power, she narrowed her eyes and sent Frank crashing into Ivan. They both tumbled to the ground, Ivan’s weapon discharging. The bullet slammed harmlessly through the ceiling above Aimee’s head. Startled, Arnost relinquished his hold on her enough for her to get one hand free. Glenn was already drawing his gun when Aimee sent a bolt of energy at him. With a shout, he dodged through the doorway and out of view.

  Arnost grabbed Aimee’s arm, twisting it behind her before she could grab a spell. Shoving her forward, his lips were cold against her ear. “Don’t try that with me, witch. I’ll rip out your fucking throat.”

  A wry smile flitted across Aimee’s lips, but she hid it with her long hair by dropping her head. Arnost was an irritation, but she needed him for just a few more seconds. Pretending to be afraid, she cowered.

  They were almost to the door when Ivan rolled over, trying to take aim again, but Arnost struck the pistol from his hand, then viciously kicked him in the head, crushing his skull.

  Frank, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen.

  Glenn dared to fill the doorway again with his hulking body. Instantly, Arnost whipped Aimee around, placing her between him and the guard.

  “Aimee, I don’t want to hurt you,” Glenn said in an urgent voice. “I’m after Arnost.”

  “It’s okay, Glenn. I’m going to kill him for you.”

  Arnost jerked Aimee’s arm upward, causing her to cry out in pain. To Aimee’s surprise, he flung her at Glenn. The guard ducked, darted around her, and tried to fire at the vampire, but Arnost was already on the move. Recovered from his wounds, Arnost was a blur. Glenn was blood infused, but the vampire easily snatched him off the ground and drove him head first into the wall. The sickening crunch of his neck breaking echoed in the cavernous room.

  Grinning, blood flecked on his lips, Arnost regarded Aimee with a predatory zeal. “You can’t stop me. I’m too fast for you.”

  Aimee blinked and he was on her. Grabbing her long hair, he twirled her about, shoving her out of the room. Gruffly manhandling her down the hallway, Arnost swore in Serbian as he fished his cellphone out of his pocket and made a call. “Where the fuck are you? What kind of fucking backup are you?” he shouted into the phone.

  Since he was foolish enough to drag her by her hair, Aimee plucked a spell off her waistband and pivoted into him. Pressing the small bag against his heart, she sent a spark of her power into it to activate it. Instantly, it burrowed through his shirt and into his chest.

  Startled, Arnost’s eyes widened.

  “I said I’d kill you,” she said with a smile.

  Arnost took a swipe at her, but it was too late. The spell burst alive inside him, fire exploding out of his mouth as the inferno consumed him from within. Aimee ripped her hair out of his hand as it turned to ashes and ran past his disintegrating body into the game room, tugging more spells out of her waist band.

  “Frank, you asshole, where are you?” she shouted angrily. “Come out!” She cursed herself for not noticing when he had slipped away.

  It was then that she heard Cassandra scream and all thoughts of Frank were vanquished as she ran for the balcony.

  Chapter 17:

  Final Battle

  Twisting in mid-air, and avoiding the sun shade over the garden, Cassandra managed to land on her feet. The hard landing jarred every bone and muscle in her body. She had set down on the soft soil of the garden, ruining a few of Aimee’s herbs.

  “Oops,” she muttered, surprised by the guilt she felt for destroying the witch’s hard work.

  Lifting her head, she coiled her body, ready to leap onto the house and scale up the side to rejoin the battle. Instead, she briefly glimpsed a dark shape crashing through the sun shade a second before Michael collided into her, painfully tackling her to the ground and smashing the air out of her lungs. Gasping for breath, Cassandra punched him in the face, and kicked him off her.

  They both rolled onto all fours, facing each other. Michael’s grin was absolutely feral as Cassandra struggled for breath.

  “So far, I’m really disappointed in you. I heard all these tall tales about your kind and yet you seem to be just a big old stupid girl,” he teased.

  “I was just about to say the same thing about you,” Cassandra wheezed.

  Anticipating his next attack, she lunged out of his attempted tackle and tucked into a rollover. Coming up on her feet, she instantly kicked out, striking his shin as he rose to his feet, and then hitting him across the face.

  Wiping blood from his nose, Michael narrowed his eyes. “Better.”

  Though she saw his fist coming, she couldn’t move fast enough to completely avoid the blow and he caught her side, sending her spinning. Quickly recovering, she ducked under his follow-up throw. Popping back up and facing him, she lifted her leg, snapping out her foot, striking the middle of his chest, shoving him backward. Michael moved to block her and she switched legs, revolving so her next kick was aimed at his chin. The impact resounded through her as his head snapped back.

  “So, what are you, big boy?” Cassandra asked in a mocking tone. “You sure aren’t human.”

  “Let’s see if you can guess.”

  With a predatory growl, Michael charged at her, arms swinging. Cassandra found herself backing up quickly, blocking the swipes with her forearms and hands. The bruising impact of his attacks registered in the back of her mind, but she was concentrating too hard on his next move to pay it much heed. Dropping to the ground, she crushed more plants under her body as she swept his feet out from under him with her leg.

  Landing with a grunt, Michael laughed joyfully. “Now this is getting fun.”

  Gunshots erupted in the house, drawing Cassandra’s attention away from Michael as fear gripped her. “Aimee,” she breathed, rising.

  Obviously b
elieving her to be distracted, Michael jumped up and struck out at her face. She caught his arm, and unleashed multiple sidekicks into his gut. He grabbed her shoulders and flung her to the ground.

  With a chortle, he gazed down at her. “So what am I?”

  “Fuck!” Cassandra exclaimed.

  Very sharp canine teeth filled his mouth and his eyes were golden yellow. “Surprise.”

  “Canis!” The word was a hiss of distaste.

  “Such a racist comment,” Michael growled, amused.

  Crab-walking away from him on her hands and feet, Cassandra felt a pang of despair as she realized the situation had just worsened. “What are you? A fucking werewolf?”

  Stalking her, Michael shook his head. “Anubis.”

  “You mean a jackal. You’re no god,” she said in a mocking voice. Twisting about, she clambered to her feet and dropped into a fighting stance.

  Michael shrugged. “You’ll be on your knees before me soon enough, god or no god.”

  The bruises he had inflicted upon her were beginning to hurt, but she didn’t dare to use the last of her power to heal. She wasn’t a fighter, she was a thief. Though she could hold her own, she had never truly trained to be the vampire hunter Dr. Summerfield declared she had been born to be. Suddenly, she wished she had trained and learned to harness all her abilities so she would know how to rid herself of the jackal before her. Pummeling him into unconscious was not going to be easy and she would most likely take a thrashing while at it. Plus, she wasn’t feeling particularly up to strength at the moment.

  “Oh, fuck it,” she groaned, and attacked.

  Blow for blow, kick for kick, she managed to match the other supernatural creature. Long claws had erupted from his fingertips, but they were ineffectual against her body armor until he managed to drag them across her bare hand. She screamed.

  Michael licked her blood from his claw. “Delicious. I want another taste.”

  “That’s the only one you get, asshole!”

  Instead of waiting for him to move, she attacked. As they fought, Michael forced her closer and closer to the outer edges of Aimee’s garden. Increasingly dizzy, Cassandra had trouble landing her blows. Michael hammered her with his fists, knees, and feet. Falling back, she stumbled, her legs suddenly giving out on her. Landing in a spray of tall lavender flowers, Cassandra flailed as the world tilted around her. Disoriented, she struggled to get up, but Michael landed on her.

  “Ah, did you fall into the nasty vervain?” Michael chuckled, his mouth elongating into a pointed snout edged with long fangs. Darting his head forward, he tried to bite her throat.

  Cassandra managed to get her hand up between his maw and her neck just in time. The sharp teeth ripped through her flesh, eliciting a scream of agony. Pressing the palm of her other hand against his forehead, she tried to push him away, but he bit down harder. Bones cracked and blood spilled from her hand.

  There was a flutter of movement behind Michael’s head. A second later, the blade of a ceremonial dagger flashed under Michael’s chin. Hot steaming blood poured out of his slit throat as his jaws released his hold on Cassandra.

  “We’re done with you,” Aimee’s voice said coldly. She stood just behind him, clutching the dagger she had earlier given to Cassandra. She must have recovered it from the floor of the game room.

  Michael thrashed about, trying to staunch the bleeding with his hands.

  Aimee extended her hand to Cassandra. “C’mon.”

  Head swimming, Cassandra managed to grip the witch’s hand while cradling her injured hand to her chest. Aimee hauled Cassandra to her feet, then pulled her away from the vervain. Instantly, Cassandra began to feel much better.

  Glancing toward Michael, Aimee said, “He’s going to heal.”

  “We’ll be gone by the time that happens.”

  “You need to heal now.” Aimee looked at Michael significantly.

  Inside the house, the sounds of battle continued, but at a slower pace. Either Frank’s men were whittling down the last of Arnost’s people, or vice versa. Soon the victor of the battle would be looking for them.

  Cassandra motioned to Michael. “Can you get him for me?”

  Lips set in a grim line, Aimee held out her hand, then sharply drew it back toward her. Michael’s body was dragged facedown through the remains of the garden to their feet. Seizing his head by his hair, Cassandra pulled it back and drove her sharp teeth into his sweaty skin. She gave him no pleasure, letting him feel every agonizing moment of her feeding. He gurgled, clawing at the ground. The loss of blood had weakened him, but she knew he would heal very soon. The power of his blood unfurled inside of her, hot, primal, and hungry. Struggling to contain it as it mingled with her dark nature, she instantly hated that she had fed from him. The darkness inside her was howling with pleasure and she felt it filling her, quashing her humanity.

  And then the softest touch rested on her cheek and the darkness fled. Instead, she felt the peace and quiet of the night fill her. Aimee’s white magic was a light inside of her, glowing as softly as the tranquil moon. Releasing Michael, Cassandra rose and turned toward Aimee.

  With sweet gentleness, Aimee kept her hand pressed to Cassandra’s flushed cheek. “You’re not a monster,” she said in a soft voice.

  Nodding, unable to speak for fear of the emotion that might choke her, Cassandra willed her hand to heal.

  “We need to go,” Aimee said at last, her hand dropping to her side.

  “That fucker, Frank, did you get him?” Cassandra asked, following Aimee to the wall.

  Aimee shook her head. “I got Arnost, but Frank vanished.” Pain and anger filled her voice and were etched into her brow.

  Taking hold of Aimee’s arm, Cassandra bent toward her. Staring into her eyes, she said, “He will never hurt you again. I swear it.”

  A small smile pressed itself to Aimee’s lips.

  “Outside!” a voice called out from the interior of the house. “They’re outside! I see them.”

  Aimee grabbed Cassandra’s hand. “Time to fly.”

  A small yelp escaped Cassandra’s lips as they were flung off the ground and onto the high wall. They landed on the narrow edge and Aimee whirled about and tossed several spells into the garden below. Purplish-blue flames erupted. Michael collapsed with a groan, but did not burn.

  “It’s not real fire. It’s the manifestation of the spell. It’ll knock all of them out for a few hours,” Aimee explained.

  Cassandra grinned. “You do think of everything.”

  “I try,” Aimee admitted with a shy smile. “Now follow me.”

  They rushed along the top of the wall to a walkway that cut past the main house to the large garage nearby. Aimee quickly punched in the security code and they slipped inside. The lights flicked on to reveal a bank of sports cars, a limousine, and a collection of motorcycles.

  “You pick,” Aimee said.

  Cassandra stared at the pegboard where all the keys dangled. She snagged a set with a Harley logo on it.

  “I had a feeling you’d pick that,” Aimee said, her laughter a balm to Cassandra’s anxious mind.

  Aimee activated the garage door while Cassandra found the correct motorcycle and climbed onboard the gleaming red and chrome beauty. Aimee ran back and slid onto the seat behind Cassandra. Her lean arms wrapped around Cassandra’s waist and her body pressed lightly against the dhamphir’s back.

  Cassandra gunned the engine and kicked up the stand. The big bike rumbling under her, she rode it out of the garage and along the long drive. She didn’t bother with the lights, but rode straight toward the gated entrance using her keen vision to guide her. Aimee leaned into her so she could reach around and hit the button on a small device attached to the handlebars. The gates opened smoothly onto the road beyond.

  Maintaining a tight hold on Cassandra, Aimee rested her chin on the dhamphir’s shoulder. “Are we going to the rental car?” Aimee asked in her ear.

  “No, we can’t trust it,” Cassa
ndra answered.

  “So where are we going?”

  “How do you like Prada?” Cassandra asked, tilting her head so she could catch a glimpse of Aimee’s face.

  Their attention was drawn away by the sound of Frank’s helicopter lifting off from the helipad at the far end of the estate. Its lights shone like small white and red stars against the desert sky.

  “He escaped,” Aimee sighed.

  “So did you.”

  “Yeah,” Aimee answered, her voice filled with wonder. “I did.”

  Cassandra pressed on the gas and the two women fled into the night.

  Chapter 18:

  Free to Decide

  In the early morning hours, the desert was at its coldest and Aimee shivered in Cassandra’s denim jacket. She watched Cassandra fuss with her messenger bag. It was the only thing she had grabbed from their very quick stop at the motel. It had been a gamble to recover Cassandra’s personal belongings, but with Frank’s men knocked out until dawn they had decided to risk it. Cassandra had worried that her broker, Scott, may have sent another team after her, but they had not encountered anyone.

  Clad in jeans, boots, and a form-fitting Superman t-shirt, Cassandra looked beautiful with her hair falling gently around her chin. Straddling the motorcycle as she riffled through her personal belongings, she looked nervous. “Found it!” She yanked out a cellphone. “This is my personal one, so it should be safe.”

  Cassandra had left everything her broker had given her for the job in a heap on the hotel room floor. She didn’t want to risk him tracking her through the items. She had explained to Aimee that she had always kept her exact location a secret from Scott and never told him the false name she lived her normal life under.

  Aimee smiled. “I told you that you had it.”

  “I was about to fucking freak out if I left it in the rental car,” Cassandra grunted. She began typing away on the screen.

  The cold wind didn’t seem to affect the dhamphir, but it had Aimee shivering. They were miles out of Marfa and hiding behind the fake Prada Store that had been erected as an art display. The ivory facade was beginning to show wear and tear from the elements, but it was still in reasonable shape. There was no way to get into the building without tripping the alarm, and it wasn’t an actual store anyway. The shoes on display really were Prada, but there was only one shoe of each style. As far as Aimee knew, no one ever changed the shoes to the latest Prada collection.