by J. K. Beck
CeeCee Jane Gantz dropped her backpack in the sand and rummaged through it as her stomach growled. When she’d left home a week ago, she’d taken a loaf of bread and a jar of Jif peanut butter with her. Smooth, not chunky, because who wants little pieces of peanuts all jammed up into your teeth?
She’d also taken $175 and one of her stepfather’s credit cards. The cash had gone fast. A bus ticket from Barstow. A jacket from Goodwill once she’d realized how cold sleeping on the beach could be. She’d always thought beaches were supposed to be balmy and sunny, but the water around Los Angeles turned her toes blue, and once the sun set, the air was so cold it made goose pimples rise on her skin.
Not that she was complaining. Goose pimples were a hell of a lot better than bruises.
She’d bought socks and tennis shoes, too, along with another pair of jeans. And all of that had cut into her savings. Then there’d been food. Early on, she’d been stupid. She’d bought food from vendors on the Santa Monica Pier, because how could she not? She was there. Finally there at the end of the world, without her bastard of a stepfather or her crackhead of a mother. It was paradise, and she couldn’t pass up the corn dogs any more than she could walk past the carousel and not ride on it once. Even if she was the only rider over the age of six.
The cash had run out yesterday, and she’d sucked it up and used the credit card at an ATM, hoping Burt hadn’t changed the PIN. He hadn’t—but the account was maxed out, so she’d walked away with nothing but disappointment and a gnawing in her stomach that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with food.
The nerves part started later. Because when you have no money and nothing to do and the only way to entertain yourself is to sit on the beach and watch the world go by, you have a lot of time to think. And what CeeCee thought about was movies. How in the movies the cops could always find you when you used a credit card.
Burt didn’t like the cops, and Burt didn’t like her.
But Burt did like Burt. And he really didn’t like being screwed.
Which meant she’d probably made a big mistake trying to use that credit card.
She’d been in Santa Monica on the Third Street Promenade at the time, and as soon as she’d realized what a complete idiot she’d been she’d headed to the beach and started walking south. She’d stopped in Venice, tired and hungry, and not able to see much once the sun had gone down.
Now she was parked on a towel someone had left on the beach—a little karmic gift—pawing through her few belongings and wishing that the towel person had left a cooler of food and drinks as well.
She dumped the backpack out, and her in-depth search was rewarded. A restaurant packet of Saltine crackers. Two of them all snug inside a little plastic balloon.
It was practically a gourmet meal.
She savored it, nibbling at the corner of the cracker, eating slowly, trying not to think about the fact that tomorrow she’d have to either steal food or figure out a way to earn money. She wasn’t naïve—she knew a sixteen-year-old girl had options. But Burt had taken that for free, and there was no way she was ever giving it up again.
Just thinking of him made her nervous, and she swiveled around, fearing he’d tracked the credit card. That he’d gotten in the truck and driven from Barstow. That he’d found her and was coming at her, unbuckling his belt as he walked. Pulling it from the loops. Twisting it in his hand.
No.
She was safe now. Sure, she was hungry, but the trash cans on the pier were full of half-finished morsels. And she had a towel now, and there were showers on the beach. Tomorrow she’d find a job waiting tables. Or washing cars. Or something. She didn’t care what because anything she did was better than where she’d been.
The moon wasn’t full, but it was still big in the sky, and the light it cast reflected off the sand, making the world seem like something out of one of those old black-and-white movies. The shadows seemed to move around her, but CeeCee just frowned and told herself she was being stupid. Tired. Seeing things on the beach the way little kids see monsters in closets.
Then the shadow moved again.
What now?
She shifted her position, getting into a squat so that she could take off running if she had to. She rolled up the towel and shoved it into her backpack. Then she hiked the pack up on her shoulder and sat there, muscles tensed, body ready.
And she felt like a complete and total idiot.
There wasn’t anything out there. She was just being paranoid. Burt was a dick, that was for damn sure. But there were miles and miles of beach in Los Angeles, and why would he think to look for her on the beach anyway?
She started to relax—and that’s when she saw the flicker again. Nothing big. Just a hint of motion. But enough to make her certain that she wasn’t imagining it.
And that’s when she realized that she really and truly was a complete and total idiot. Burt might be the only sadistic asshole at 414 Rosedale Road, but in Los Angeles there were plenty of them. They went out at night, and they preyed on stupid teenagers who slept on the beach.
The sea air hung wet and chilly, as if a blanket had been tossed over the previously sunbaked sand.
Alexis hurried down the Venice Beach bike path, vacant at this time of night. Charming cottages rose up to her left, illuminated only by pale moonlight and the occasional electric lamplight shining through a window. She noticed it all, but she wasn’t really taking it in. All her attention was focused on finding the vampire.
Is he on the hunt right now? Has he found a new victim?
The moonlight provided some illumination, and she took in her surroundings as she walked. Dammit, where is he? The ball’s inability to pinpoint the bastard’s location frustrated her, but the warmth it generated let her know that at least she was close.
Maybe he’s sated. Maybe draining Penny Martinez filled the bastard up.
On her right, sand sparkled in the moonlight, stretching out toward an infinity of ocean, the froth on the rolling waves glistening white in the moonlight.
She studied her surroundings, trying to intuit where a vampire would go. Surely not over there along that empty expanse of sand. Much more likely it was hiding in the narrow walkways and alleys that cut through the quaint beachside neighborhood. Possibly trolling through restaurant parking lots, looking behind dumpsters for new prey. The homeless. The runaways.
She thought of Tori and quickened her pace, heading toward the street. She’d do a pass up and down the alleys, listening for movement and hopefully catching a vampire instead of just a stray cat or two. A high-pitched scream cut the night. She froze, head cocked, trying to judge the direction of the sound.
Goddammit, it is coming from the beach.
She turned fast and started sprinting toward the lingering tones of the scream, the sound still vibrating in the thick night air. It had sounded like a girl, and Alexis hoped to hell she was okay, and at the same time she wished the girl would scream again to help Alexis locate her.
A movement across the sand caught her attention, and she raced toward it. She wasn’t nervous—she’d taken down vamps before, not to mention mobsters and serial killers. But she was pissed, and the emotion curled inside her, warm and welcome. Fueling her muscles and ramping up her strength.
The beach was mostly flat, but there was a rise approaching a drainage ditch. She hauled ass up the incline, and saw a burly male with a ripped black T-shirt, tight jeans, and bushy eyebrows. That’s him. The one that got away. The one whose heart I missed. Penny Martinez’s blood is on my hands. And now another girl struggles in his arms.
Alexis didn’t waste any time sizing up the details. She raised her crossbow and aimed at the vamp’s back. Steady. Steady.
Zing!
The stake went flying—which did absolutely no good whatsoever since the instant it was released, the vampire rolled over, taking the girl with him. The stake landed harmlessly in the sand. Goddammit all to hell …
The vampire ripped a chunk out
of the girl’s neck, then leaped up, his mouth dripping with blood, his eyes burning with hatred.
“You again,” he snarled as the girl on the ground moaned, blood pouring out of her, staining the sand and looking like a pool of oil in the dim light of the night. “You damn little bitch.”
Shit, she’d made it worse. For the girl, and for herself.
Maybe so, but now was hardly the time to kick herself about it. Especially since the vampire was launching himself right at her.
The brunt of his weight got her in the shoulder, and she toppled over from the force of his blow. She landed sprawled out on the sand, the vampire half on her and leaning in. His weight pinned down one arm, but the one holding a stake was free. No way could she stake his heart from the back, but she could hurt him, and she thrust the stake down hard at the awkward angle, managing to pierce his jacket and embed it in his flesh.
He reared up in agony and she snagged the moment, immediately shifting her weight to free her other arm—and the spring-loaded stake hidden in the jacket sleeve. She flexed, the motion sending the stake flying forward, and it slammed straight into his heart.
He fell backward, howling, and Alexis scrambled to her feet. Something wasn’t right, but her mind wasn’t telling her what. All she knew was that she had to get to the girl and get them both the hell out of there.
She plowed forward, running as fast as the sand would let her, then dropped to her knees at the girl’s side. It was bad—really bad. The girl’s face was gaunt, and it seemed to glow white in the moonlight.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” Alexis said, and almost cried when she saw the girl’s slow blink in reply. Her lips parted. A blood bubble formed at her mouth.
“Hush,” Alexis said. “Don’t try to talk.”
“Rr …,” the girl whispered.
“Please.” Alexis blinked back tears, her mind full of this girl, of her sister. “Please, don’t talk. Just hang on.”
“Rr—n.”
Alexis frowned … and then understood. Run. The girl was telling her to run, and Alexis didn’t question it. She just bolted right over the girl, away from the vampire who had to be behind her. He hadn’t turned to dust. I should have realized! If he’d really been dead, he would have turned to dust!
As she ran, she scrambled to get her crossbow freed up and ready. Fire the thing, nail the creature, and then get back to help the girl. She twisted around, getting the bow positioned, ready to release the trigger, then blam—his body impacted hers.
He ripped the crossbow out of her hands and tossed it aside, at the same time slamming her onto the ground. His palms pinned her shoulders, his large body straddled her, and his strength was unmatchable. She’d had a chance earlier when she’d had the element of surprise and the benefit of leverage. But now—now she had nothing.
I’m sorry. She wanted to scream the words. To Tori. To the girl on the beach. To every single victim who’d died as she was about to die. But she couldn’t. He had a hand on her throat now and was squeezing tight, making the world grow even darker.
A roar filled her ears, and Alexis realized it was the pounding drum of her own pulse, growing faster and faster along with her terror. The vampire curled his upper lip, revealing long, white fangs. “Bitch,” he whispered. “I’m gonna suck you dry.”
His scent enveloped her. Blood mixed obscenely with men’s cologne. She struggled, but it was no use, and she knew it. This was how Tori had died.
And Alexis was about to follow right behind.
She tried to resign herself to that horrible reality, but it wouldn’t compute. She couldn’t die yet. Not like this. Not without having taken down the monster that murdered her sister.
She tried to fight back. Tried to dig for that miraculous burst of adrenaline that would shoot through her and let her save herself and kill the vampire. The big Hollywood finish—except it wasn’t happening. And instead of the thrill of victory, she felt the horror of fangs piercing her throat.
And then—smash!—reality shifted again, and suddenly the weight was lifted, the monster gone. She raised her hand to her neck, felt the gash at her throat, the blood seeping through her fingers. She tried to roll over to see what was going on, but her body wasn’t responding. Shock, she thought.
Through sheer force of will, she managed to twist her head until she saw her attacker rolling over and over with a dark figure. A man, but he moved remarkably fast and when he slammed the vampire back against a utility pole rising beside the drainage ditch, the reverberating sound was testament to his incredible strength.
The vampire she’d come to kill howled and fought back, but the man showed no fear. He grabbed the vampire by his arms, lifted him, and tossed him like so much garbage. He landed with a thud above her line of sight, and even as the sound of the impact echoed, the man was rushing in that direction.
He paused for just a moment as he passed. Their eyes met, and she gasped.
It was the man from the crime scene. The one she’d noticed. The one who’d given her shivers. The mysterious man with the slate-gray eyes.
Who the hell was he?
Her again. The woman. The one who’d captivated him as he stood on the roof. Who’d confused him as he’d watched the crime scene.
He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Clearly, they were both chasing the same rogue.
For the briefest of moments, the thought that they were on the same path gave him pleasure, but he had no time to reflect on it. Instead, his thoughts were on Mitre. He’d pulled the bastard off her. He’d saved her. But inside himself, his own beast writhed with a fury fueled by hunger. Time to hunt, time to feed. Time to kill.
And, yes, time to save.
He launched himself at the vampire again, but this time the vamp was ready for him. He kicked up and out, catching Serge in the gut and sending him flying backward. Serge regrouped and rushed the vamp, who somersaulted away and landed on his feet, his face a mask of confusion and surprise as he caught sight of his attacker.
“Oh, shit, I know you,” the vamp said, his voice filled with awe. “You’re Sergius.”
“And you’re a fucking genius.”
“You want her?” the vamp offered deferentially. “She’s all yours, man.”
Serge allowed a slow smile to creep across his face. “It’s not her I want.”
For a moment, Mitre looked confused. Then his eyes lit with understanding. He inched backward.
“Afraid?” Serge asked, knowing the answer was yes. “You should be.”
He could see the rogue’s eyes narrow in concentration as he started the process of transforming into mist so he could get the hell out of there.
“Not happening,” Serge said, and leaped again. As expected, the rogue broke his concentration to shift to the side rather than transforming and taking Serge with him. Serge followed, then reached out and grabbed the back of Mitre’s shirt. Within him, the daemon rumbled. Wanting to taunt and torture. Wanting to drag out the pain and revel in his victim’s misfortune.
Serge hated that raw, dark part of himself. Hated the daemon that had to be appeased lest it become too powerful for him to fight. Most of all, he hated that deep, buried part of himself that enjoyed it, too. That got satisfaction out of knowing he had the power to make a killer suffer. That took delight in symbolically destroying what he himself used to be.
Now, though, he didn’t have time for that perverse pleasure. “I’d like to play this out,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “A little cat and mouse. A little rough-housing. But I need to clean up your mess, so let’s just get on with this thing.”
“No. Please. I don’t—”
But Serge didn’t learn what the rogue didn’t do. Time was running out. He could smell the woman’s pain, could sense the last vestiges of life draining from the teen. An infusion of vampire blood would heal the woman, but Serge was too low, too drained. If he didn’t feed soon, the beast would burst free, and he would be no help at all to the females.
He reached out, intending only to hold the vamp steady. The only thing that could be considered good about his new self was that he could feed without leaving a mark, but he had to be able to latch on—a good grip, a moment to concentrate, and—
Wham, the guy lashed out and smacked him hard in the jaw. Serge stumbled back, and in that instant the vampire took a step to the side. Serge acted quickly, instinctively. He thrust out, and his fist plowed right through the vampire’s sternum. “Now hold still,” he snarled as he spread his fingers wide. He focused, his head tossed back by the power of the life force gushing into him.
At the end of his arm, the vampire howled in protest, but the strength had seeped out of him too fast to allow him to run, to flee, to do anything but shrivel down to a lifeless hull. A desiccated shell of a creature.
Serge yanked his arm back, his chest rising and falling as he gulped in air. Not because he needed to breathe, but because the rhythm of it was calming. It soothed the horror of what he had to do now to survive and calmed the daemon that was still itching for a fight.
The hole in the vampire’s chest, though—dammit, that was going to raise some questions.
He knew that the PEC was baffled by the desiccated bodies that had turned up. The popular theory was that the mummified vampires had been infected. As far as Serge knew, there’d been no official inquiry into the possibility that they had been attacked instead.
But a hole in the gut suggested an attack. And that could raise unpleasant questions and turn a few too many eyes his way.
He shoved the worries from his head. No time for them now. He was pure vampire again, thanks to his victim’s life force, and the females needed him. He hurried to the teenage girl’s side. She’d lost almost all of her blood, and the scent of death clung to her, warm and sticky. Vampire blood could heal, but only if the human was not already on the verge of death. There was no saving this girl. No bringing her back from the brink, letting her grow up human and happy.