“Now everyone blames her,” Rain added sadly. “Even her own family has abandoned her.”
“And every so often, they find someone else dead,” Jason continued. “So now it’s a Federal case. Her face has been all over the news for weeks.”
“But...why?” My hands shook.
“Charles says that she was feeding,” Jason stood, not bothering to dust off his pants like Rain. “Mela-who-the-hell-ever.” He held out a hand to me. “And he says she’ll keep doing it, as long as she has someone like Tamara to feed through. So now that you’re back online,” he smiled grimly, “let’s put an end to this. Save Tamara, and send that demon packing.”
Cautiously, I took his hand, worried that close contact might bring back the bloodlust. “You have a lot of misplaced confidence in me,” I rasped. Rain took my other arm, and I let both teens help haul me upright.
Rain shook his head, managing a smile. “No way. We watched you two fight, remember? She can’t beat you and Charles together.” His smile, battered but bright, grew wider, and he slapped me lightly on the back. “We’ll track her down, and you guys can fix this.”
Thirty-five lives plus, gone. There’s no fixing that. I gave them a ragged smile. “Yeah. But I still can’t go with you right now.”
Jason furrowed his brow. “Why the hell not? Night’s just getting started.”
“Because,” I muttered hoarsely, “If I saw Charles right now…” I trailed off, staring at the ambient light pollution on the horizon, the city’s herald, “I’d probably eat him.”
The boys led me to the top of the hill, where the land leveled out and subdivisions lay sprawled out in front of me.
“You should…” Rain trailed off, swallowing hard as he stared at me. He gestured at his face. “You’re…”
“...Not exactly fit to blend in at the moment,” Jason finished for him.
I snorted. “That bad, huh?” Well, there was no way for two months of wear and tear, with no food and only-fuck-knew-what had happened to me in the meantime, not to leave a few marks. I shrugged. “Don’t worry. No one will see me.”
It was an act of will to call the shadows to me, but finally, they flocked to my summons, shrouding me in darkness. Unlike ever before, it was a strain to hold them in place.
I eyed the boys from the depths of my shadows. “Do me a favor, and go tell Charles the rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated.”
Jason snorted. “You be okay solo?”
I just nodded, forgetting they probably couldn’t see the motion, and walked away.
It was hunting time.
Ca-Lethe Meladoquiel had to be stopped...but first I had to eat.
Heartbeats hammered me from every direction, each one a potential meal, each thump-thump making it incrementally harder for me to make informed choices about who to murder.
I had standards, goddammit, and I refused to yield them to base urges, to become the monster I’d conquered over a year ago.
So I hunted through dark back alleys and familiar stomping grounds, looking for suitable targets as my own heartbeat grew slower and slower, my movements more and more forced.
Meanwhile, my thoughts spun sluggishly in circles.
The Ur-demon’s choice of targets to feed on had been no accident. I already knew her better than that. Likely, they had been chosen to inflict maximum emotional harm. And it had worked; the massacre had hit me close to home indeed. Another time, another life, one of those thirty-five lost souls could have been me or someone I knew or even Lori.
My Lori, who had remained in the demon’s clutches for weeks and who might not still be alive.
If Ca-Lethe Meladoquiel meant to break us—or at least me—she was doing pretty well so far.
I stumbled through the seediest streets of the Magic City until I couldn’t hold any more of those thoughts in my head if I’d wanted to. Until my conjured shadows drained away, seeping into the cracks in the asphalt, my will no longer sufficient to keep them intact.
I had to look like an easy mark. Just my luck no one was taking the bait.
I kept on putting one foot in front of the other until I forgot why I was doing it. All that endured was the ragged haze that remained of my vision, the hunger, and the next dark corner. Like a ragged, stubborn zombie, I shuffled forever onward, starvation gnawing away at my soul.
Gunshots shook me from my supernatural stupor.
Raised voices caught my failing hearing from just around the corner.
Food, came my only thought.
Without hesitation, I stumbled down the alley, my body scraping off the walls as I tripped on trash.
The smell of spoiled blood filled the alleyway and my nostrils. Not...food.
My tunnel vision revealed a “fresh” corpse on the ground, bleeding its steaming guts onto the asphalt.
But two were still standing.
Still edible.
The biggest, a dark-skinned man in a button-down shirt and holding a gun, had his back to me. He smelled delicious.
“You see him? That’s what happens when people fuck with me and my—”
Despite the gun shoved in his gut, the second man screamed when he saw me coming.
But the man with his back turned...he never had a chance.
Most of my strength had fled, but I was still more than able to restrain a struggling mortal. I bent him backward and simply tore out his throat, biting down deeply, hungrily.
Food!
Lifeblood gushed down my throat in a torrent, soaked my clothes, stained my skin.
I struggled not to laugh in delight.
It would have wasted too much food.
He struggled mightily, desperately, not knowing he was doomed—or perhaps in defiance of it. But my full strength came flooding back to me; I felt my connection to the death and darkness Next Door snap sharply back into focus.
My victim pulled the trigger over and over, landing one shot on the man in front of us before turning the gun on me.
I ignored it, reveling in the liquid elation pouring down my throat.
In a flash, my aches and pains dissipated. I felt a rush, almost a high, as it fleshed out my body. My muscles and tendons loosened, and even my flesh and blood seemed to relax and come back to life. I held on like a supernatural leech as a stranger died to make me strong, and I reveled in his growing weakness.
I drained him dry like none other before him, savoring the very last drops as the spark of life winked out, deep in his core.
Save for the red painting my skin and my clothes, I didn’t miss a drop before the life left him.
I was alive again. I roared in triumph, shaking the brickwork and asphalt. Despite everything, I’d survived. The nearest streetlights exploded in a surge of static as I lifted the corpse high overhead and flung it against the wall, watching it flop limply into the open dumpster below with satisfaction.
Mid-triumphant laugh, I froze.
What the hell was I doing?
This isn’t me. I could feel clustered heartbeats stammering out their terror from the nearby buildings. Right?
Sirens screamed in the distance, growing closer, my unnatural roar likely summoning what the gunshots couldn’t.
I made it two blocks away before I felt the eyes boring into my back again and heard the steady heartbeat of Sanguinarians somewhere above me.
Chapter Seventeen
Stranger bed fellows
I felt the eyes on my back, just like I had over two months ago.
I still couldn’t see my supernatural stalkers, but after the ambush at the Strider strip mines, I knew what to listen for instead.
One quick leap took me two stories up, my claws digging into brickwork, a platform to launch myself another thirty feet and over the lip of the building at my back.
Breath whooshed out of the Sanguinarian as I slammed into her. But even caught off guard, she fought back. In one smooth motion, she caught her footing, grabbed me by the waist, spun us both around and slung me right back off
the roof.
My claws caught the edge of the roof, and shadows swarmed me as I locked eyes with her.
The next instant I slammed into her again, ripping out of the shadows right in front of her and plowing my shoulder into her midsection. Together, we rammed a rooftop AC unit, crushing in the side, a handful of sparks shooting out of the grill on top as heavy fan blades ground to a reluctant halt inside inside the warped steel chassis.
Rusty iron claws punctured the steel, sinking in just barely to either side of her pale throat. In between, one clawless finger pointed at her vulnerable neck, just a tip of razor-sharp iron poking out like a promise, a drip of dark blood glistening on the tip.
“Where are the others?” I growled, letting the blade ease out another half inch.
She tilted her head. “This how you treat all the girls, love?”
I stared at her. The pale violet eyes and the short, dishwater blond hair tugged at my memory, but it was the casual, well-worn Deadpool T-shirt that made her instantly recognizable.
“You,” I growled.
T-shirt Girl glanced at the claw ready to open her carotid arteries to the air and raised an eyebrow. “What? Not gonna off me outright like that poor bloke down there? Not a word in edgewise? Just chkkt, one and done, move on with your life?”
We both glanced down as the claw slid a little closer to Sanguinarian flesh: a slip of control, not a threat. “Are you trying to encourage me to do it?” I rasped harshly. At first, I thought it was her Ye Olde British accent that grated on my nerves or her nonchalant, mocking tone—but then I realized it was what she was saying that bothered me, not how she was saying it.
She had too much of a point for comfort.
The blade-tip jutting from my middle finger dissipated into the air, a tiny crackle of static along my flesh, and I sunk the claws into the AC unit until my hand pinned her to the crushed metal. “You have those tapes of me from St. Valentine’s,” I growled. I hadn’t forgotten Salvatore’s missing “evidence” of my existence; hell, it was probably the reason for the Sanguinarian death squads I kept running into. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just end you right here and now.”
“‘Cause I don’t have ‘em anymore, and you might just want to know where they went,” she replied, her own voice a little hoarse from the Strigoi vice around her throat. “Damn, you’re strong. So you gonna just off me like that last guy, or do I get a listen?”
I stared at her expectantly. She stared back.
“You want storytime, love,” she finally said, her voice whispery, “you’ll wanna do without quite so much choky-choky.”
Grinding my teeth a little in irritation, I ripped my claws out of the AC’s steel with a quick skretch, leaving twin crimson lines on either side of her neck as a cautionary tale. I could smell the cloying scent of Sanguinarian blood as her eyes flickered red and the wounds disappeared.
T-shirt Girl took a seat where she was, sliding out of the vampire-shaped dent in the metal. I loomed over her, motionless. She seemed to know as well as I did that she wouldn’t get far if she tried to run—not that running seemed to be high on her agenda.
“’At’s more like it,” she commented. I didn’t reply, and after a moment, she sighed. “You’re about as talkative as my dead mum,” she complained. “Fine. First off, I’m out here all by my lonesome, so don’t bother lookin’ all over. Second, those precious tapes you’re worried about are long gone, I’m afraid.”
My fingers wanted to tighten into angry—or anxious—fists; I forgot most of my claws were still out and nearly stabbed myself. “Then where’d they go?” I shook the tension out of my hands. “I know you had them.”
“Yeah, but I sold ‘em,” she retorted. “Well, leveraged them, but same difference. Long gone.”
I eyed her coldly, weighing my options. I doubted she realized how close she came to death before I shook my head. “Bullshit,” I rasped. “If you’d sold the proof of my existence to your people, I’d be dead.” I paused. “Deader.”
“Well, you’d think that,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Kinda thought it might go that way myself. No offense.”
“None taken,” I replied flatly, making certain to drench the words in sarcasm.
She snorted. “You mad at enemies bein’ enemies? Like you woulda played nice with me, if you’d caught up with me back on that parking deck,” she retorted. It was a valid point. “Anyways, neither of us banked on the stubbornness of the people in charge and Salvatore’s arrogance.” She shifted, rubbing at the nape of her neck. “Bastard was dumber than he looked. I mean, maybe he knew some way to get more outta it, but it sure didn’t do much for me.”
“I don’t understand.” This whole conversation felt naggingly surreal. Why would a Sanguinarian—one I’d fought repeatedly—volunteer all of this information? It had to be a trap.
I kept my eyes open, waiting for the hook.
“I guess you wouldn’t.” She stared up at me, her eyes dull violet in the shadow I cast across her. “Because, after two or three centuries of security and doing whatever they want, most of them would rather stick their heads in the sand,” she explained. “You gotta understand, the guys on the Sanguinarian Old Council are just like the people in power everywhere else—corrupt. These guys are like the worst old money you ever seen in your life—”
“—Except monsters,” I cut in.
“Was gonna say ‘on steroids,’ but that works too.” She shrugged. “But then you got the other monsters, the other old assholes, the ones in the shadows that think it’s their turn to rule or just ain’t satisfied with what they have. The blokes that want more power, to pull more strings, who want the whole damn world to run red with blood...or be addicted to it.”
Her words worked a chill down my spine, but I managed not to let it show.
“Now me?” She smiled thinly. “I’m more pragmatic. I know shit that far from the center can’t hold.”
“Bruce Lee,” I commented, recognizing the mangled quote.
“Whatever.” She shrugged again. “Point is, I been around. I think if we just keep grabbing, tryin’ to lock everything down in a bloody stranglehold...the only people we’ll end up choking out are ourselves. Eventually.”
I stared her down, trying to figure out her angle. The scariest thing was that she seemed honest. And reasonable. “Why tell me?” I rasped, my suspicion laid bare alongside the words. “Why help me, of all people? Aren’t I your people’s boogeyman or what-the-hell-ever?”
“Scarecrow, more like. And that’s part of the reason you’re a good person to tell, wildcard. You’re involved.” She watched me, her gaze openly analytical. “’Sides, we ain't all blackguards or white knights, you know? Some of us ‘Sangs’ are just people, tryin’ to make it, just like you.”
I shook my head, almost on reflex. “Not like me.”
“Shit. You ain’t no saint. Get off that high horse.” She matched my glare, unafraid, as I stared down at her. “You’re a vampire too, or didja somehow forget that?”
“Hardly.” I kept a lid on the first traces of rising ire.
“I’ve been watching you, ya know. Here and there, for a while. Watched you tonight.” She stared up at me, pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her arms on them. “I’m just glad to see you’re a proper villain too, like the rest of us.”
“I’m not like that,” I snapped.
“Pfft.” T-shirt Girl rolled her eyes. “We’re all villains to somebody. Don’t go gettin’ all high-and-mighty. You’re out here killin’ to live, like the rest of us. Hell, worse than the rest of us; Sanguinarians don’t have to kill their prey.”
“No. What you do is worse.” I’d seen cases of Sanguinarian venom-addiction before. And the tales Tamara told were far more horrific than the snapshots I’d seen firsthand.
“Says who? Is that what you tell yourself at bedtime, Strigoi?” She spat the words but frowned as I struggled visibly to contain a spike of anger. “Well shit. I
’m not here to pick a fight, y’know? Tryin’ to work something out, even. Just saying, look at that poor bastard tonight. How bad of a man was he? Did he deserve the death penalty from your one-woman court?”
The rage started to fade. I didn’t like the message, but I wasn’t going to kill the messenger over it. “You’re right,” I said finally, softly. “But I try. I do...the best that I can.” And sometimes, I make mistakes.
“You’re right, too,” the Sanguinarian replied after a moment, almost as quiet. The admission caught me off guard. “Like I said. I’ve watched you. You try; you don’t know, not for sure, but you do try.” She gazed off into the dirty night sky, the stars’ brilliance snuffed out by a blanket of the city’s ambient glow. “We don’t. Not really. Those concerns just...die out when we turn, I guess.”
This was hardly the dialog I’d expected when I’d leapt onto the roof a couple of minutes ago. How many of this woman’s kindred had I killed just because we played for opposite teams—albeit an opposite team that would gladly throw a Molotov into my bedroom while I slept.
That thought—and her other points—were something to mull over, to meditate over, later.
I sat down across from her.
“So you’re the one who’s been watching me?” I asked the thin, pale-skinned vampire. “For...months now, I guess?”
“Well, not just me.” She met my eyes candidly. “Yeah, I had a pretty watchful eye, trying to figure you and your little group of misfits out. But there were those assassins, too.” She stifled a yawn, raising a hand to her mouth. “Like I said, most of the Old Ones didn’t buy into the whole ‘Strigoi never died’ thing.”
“But some did,” I filled in. It made sense; I’d long known that something like that had to be the answer to the intermittent Sanguinarian assaults.
The T-shirt Sanguinarian nodded. “Yeah. Not only were some spooked, others saw it as a way to overthrow the status quo. Just a little.” She sighed. “Normally, I’d be all for that. I’m a big proponent of the fact that we seem to have bought into our own bullshit about ruling the world; have you seen those fucking suits and ties? Wankers look like they come fresh off a douchebag assembly line.” She chuckled, amused at herself; I almost joined her. “No fucking character at all. Traded it all for ‘class.’”
Shattered Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 3) Page 19