Blinding Light (The Bloodmarked Trilogy Book 2)

by Alicia Deters

  Blinding Light

  By

  Alicia Deters

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2016 by Alicia Deters

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Tugboat Design

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Acknowledgments

  Dedicated to all my friends and family. I love you guys!

  ~

  Those moments when you feel like you’re teetering on the razor sharp edge of life… Well, they suck. No pun intended. I hate them. When you can actually stare down into the precipice and it stares back at you, beckons you, there’s nothing worse. Sure, those moments are defining by nature, forcing you to make life altering decisions that undoubtedly result in growth and wisdom and blah, blah, blah. But the thing is, knowledge comes at a price. Regardless of the choice made, those moments bring pain and loss so great it threatens to shatter the very foundation in which said knowledge is built upon.

  And, for me, they are becoming impossible to ignore.

  So what would I gain from them if I break? What happens if I meet the precipice head on and, like a total klutz, stumble right over the edge?

  I think I may have been safer in the dark. From the second I stepped foot into the light, I’ve experienced more loss than the collective nineteen years I spent in the dark. How many more steps toward the light will I take before it swallows me up, leaving behind only the blurred silhouette of a person?

  ~

  1

  I woke to what was probably the worst case of cottonmouth in history. My tongue was as gritty as the driest desert on Earth, which I somehow knew was the Atacama. So, yeah, it was dry. Each of my 640 muscles ached like they picked a fight with a meat mallet. The mallet came out on top that round. Light filtered through my heavy eyelids, blinding me, and the harsh mattress springs beneath me were digging permanent homes in my back.

  This was worse than any hangover. Not that I would know. I’ve never been hung over.

  Or have I?

  My memories were a bit fuzzy. I was an excellent source of useless facts but had no relevant insight pertaining to my current situation. I knew that the average human body held just under ten pints of blood, but I couldn’t recall my own past. The one thing I did know, with all certainty, was that I was hungry. Really, really hungry.

  The throbbing in my head refused to desist, which made the slightest gesture my worst enemy. I slowly peeled my eyelids open and recoiled from the bright light, triggering an entirely different round of torture. A domino effect descended on my senses.

  My sense of touch began firing signals to my brain I had yet to understand. The molecules in the air danced playfully against my exposed skin, raising goose bumps, and the tiniest twitch caused the rough fabric of my jeans and navy thermal shirt to scratch coarsely against my body like sandpaper.

  Sight proved to be an even bigger headache as my eyes darted frantically around the room, zeroing in on every single detail and finding no immediate threats. The disarray of my abode was a bit disconcerting, however. Paint chips were scattered about the dingy cement floors, and the tiny, protruding splinters in the wood door to my right captured my attention briefly until it flitted restlessly to the next shiny new attraction. The light streaming in from the two boarded up windows across the room illuminated the floating dirt particles like dull pixie dust.

  On top of the visual carnival, my brain worked overtime trying to distinguish each individual smell. It was attempting to breakdown every single ingredient of cleaner and pest traps in the building while simultaneously deciphering the contents of every dumpster within range. Unable to process so much at once, I smelled a million things at different moments. It was like flipping through channels. One second, I scented the mustiness of the old building. The next, I smelled dirty diapers across the street.

  If that wasn’t sensory overload, then the hearing was definitely going to be the death of me. I felt the tires grating across pavement on a physical level. My brain was made of gravel, grinding against itself rather painfully. Horns and sirens blaring in the distance sounded like foghorns blasting inches from my ears. The human chatter was so bad I thought I was hearing voices in my head. Insect legs made ticking noises across the cement, resembling a clock counting down to my true death. I couldn’t take any more.

  I hunched over on the rusted bed frame, trying desperately to ignore the evil mattress springs. They were more like medieval torture devices used to languidly gouge their victims to death. My head could have popped like a balloon under the pressure of my hands against my ears. I reached for my left wrist and rubbed it gently. It was a reflex reaction, possibly remnant of my past life?

  Quite suddenly, my hearing shifted and the white noise cleared. My heartbeat pounded in the blood of my palms. But then, I heard another heartbeat just as loud. And another.

  Oh no. It wasn’t my heartbeat at all.

  Although I may not have been clear on who I was, without any doubts, I knew exactly what I was. I knew I was a vampire, but what I hadn’t been aware of was the strong negative reaction I had in my gut to that knowledge. How could I be so adverse to the idea of drinking blood when it’s what I craved, what I needed? How could I possibly ignore such a primal, base feeling that eats away at me and screams at me, demanding my attention front row and center?

  This wasn’t a passing hankering for chocolate or cigarettes. This was like a drowning person who switches off all logical thought processes and turns on the survival mode. I didn’t have the luxury of simply choosing to put down a candy bar or to not light up another cigarette. I was in survival mode. There was no choice.

  A fleeting memory tried to crawl its way out of the dark recesses of my mind, but I couldn’t quite reach out and grab it in time before it slipped away. Oh well. Maybe if I had blood, my brain could repair itself enough to recover those memories. My senses were already readying me for a kill.

  My nose picked up human pheromones. I could actually smell things like fear and aggression from who only knew how far away. My hearing narrowed and isolated two raised heartbeats in the distance. If I didn’t have the body of a desiccated corpse, my mouth would probably be salivating. I stood and turned toward the door, catching my reflection in a cheap, stick-on wall mirror, crookedly placed above the bed.

  Oh good. I still had my looks. I was worried for a minute, because what would be worse after going through traumatic changes and turning into an evil monster? Sure as hell wouldn’t want to lose my ability to take a Facebook worthy selfie and an opportunity to flaunt this freakishly rockin’ bod.

  I had no idea where that thought came from, but my frazzled brain required blood before insanity took hold and put down roots.

  Something in me was screaming to not go through with
this. Could it be a lingering human conscience? I didn’t realize I would retain that after I became… well, after the transformation.

  I knew it was wrong, but I was more terrified of what I would do if I completely lost my mind with thirst. So I did what had to be done. I ignored that little voice in my head and let my senses take the lead.

  They led me out into the bright midday sun. I blinked several times before lifting a hand to shield my eyes from the glare off the snow-covered streets. It took a split second before my eyes were fully adjusted and absorbing the scene around me. They registered every movement, from the birds bouncing between branches in the tree across the street to the flickering ashes falling from the man’s cigarette that stood two blocks down the sidewalk from me.

  The sight of those ashes drifting in the breeze sparked awareness in me. I jumped back into the shadow of the building from which I emerged. It was strange, but at no point of being fully exposed to the sun was I uncomfortable in any way. In fact, it was the opposite. It was rejuvenating.

  Cautiously, I extended a hand beyond the safety of the shadow. When it reached the sunlight, I inhaled deeply, like I could take that warmth inside myself. Some rational part of me was telling me I shouldn’t be able to do this. I turned my wrist over, palm up to the sun. No smoke. No burning. Well, that part of me was obviously an idiot and couldn’t be trusted.

  Stepping out into the sunlight once again, I lifted my head and closed my eyes. Content, I basked in it like a cat curling up by a sunward-facing window. It made me forget the urge to hunt and the mood-altering craving. But the warm fuzzy feeling was fleeting and immediately replaced by the roaring heartbeats pounding against my eardrums like waves on rocks.

  I found them only blocks away on the side of the nearest supermarket. It was a young couple in the middle of a heated argument. They were far enough away from the crowds of the main parking lot that no one noticed. Plenty of privacy for yelling, name calling, and all sorts of nefarious activities.

  Lucky me.

  I watched them from around the back corner of the building. There was a loading dock for trucks a few yards away, but it was closed and no one was around.

  The ebbs and wanes of their hormones drew me closer. It was like a sixth sense, almost like smell, but different. I could feel the shifts in me, and it seemed that their heightened anger and fear only stirred the hunger, making it ten times as palpable. I crept further along the wall, but they were too engrossed in the argument to notice me.

  “I can’t believe you’re acting like this again! You know I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Yeah, you never mean anything by it. You’re such an asshole. Why don’t you just go screw every other girl in town because you and me are done!”

  “Fine! I don’t need some whiney little bitch anyway. And you know what? I did mess around with her, and she’s definitely not as uptight as you.”

  Oh, snap. Awkward.

  The girl’s face was somewhat familiar. She wore the expression of, well, me when I fight any vampire. The memories were slowly resurfacing, and what fond memories they were. Focusing back on the girl, I definitely knew what was coming.

  Her eyes promised revenge and a whole lot of pain. Her palm connected with his cheek in a resounding smack. He tried pushing her back, but she brought her knee up in a swift motion, effectively rendering him motionless. His knees hit the concrete hard, and she ran off before he could regain his composure.

  I almost pitied the guy. Well, no, I didn’t. He did sound like an asshole from what I overheard. And I was way too hungry to muster any sympathy. He was still hunched over cupping his manhood when I approached. Before he had a chance to react, his head smacked off the brick wall, leaving him lying unconscious at my feet. I should really learn more about the best pressure points for knocking people out. That was definitely going to leave a mark.

  His pulse pounded louder in my ears, and that pesky cottonmouth was a thing of the past. The rich aroma picked up in the breeze, and it was physically painful to stop myself from tearing into his flesh in a very lethal fashion. My fangs had extended a while ago, and I bent down to grab his arm. The scent was bringing out a beast inside of me I wasn’t strong enough to deny.

  I stiffened, not from the cold air, but from being torn apart inside. The inner turmoil was manifesting into a physical reaction. I felt ill. One part of me was screaming vehemently against this and the other part, which was completely new to me, was smothering the other part and trying to choke the morals out of me. My head pounded like the inside of Dave Grohl’s drum set, and my stomach churned like Dorthy’s house in a twister. I was seconds away from dry heaving. My overactive senses were ripping me apart, but before my body could shut down completely, I tuned everything out. I cleared my mind and surrendered to the beckoning calls.

  I lifted the guy’s warm arm to my lips and pried back his coat sleeve. The delicious warmth flowing through his veins summoned me forward. I relented, sinking my fangs into the flesh and piercing the artery wall just beneath the skin’s surface. The taste was fine and all, but quenching a thirst after being dehydrated for days was heavenly. My body had begged and pleaded for this, and I think a soft moan of pleasure escaped through the corner of my mouth, followed by drops of that wonderful healing liquid.

  Without warning, something equally as strong overwhelmed me. My conscience was not happy with me. Fear and anxiety grew until they became a tangible part of me. I understood it immediately as the man’s residual fear of losing his girl, or maybe his anxiety from getting caught. He was unconscious and yet, his argument lingered. I was drawing it into me until it melded with my essence, like the blood that keeps me functioning. The emotions were keeping me… Human?

  I pulled away instantly, afraid of the damage I might have done. I desperately checked the guy’s pulse. It was weak but still there. I shifted his head so he could breathe easier, and relief washed through me at the sight of those little puffs of frost forming above his lips.

  I wasn’t sure how to cover the bite marks, so I ran my nails over them, blending them with scratch marks. I hoped he would just assume his girlfriend did more damage than he first thought. I backed away, hiding behind a large oak tree nearby, and then I whistled loud enough to get the attention of shoppers wheeling their carts to the edge of the lot. He stirred but didn’t awaken.

  “Come on, wake up,” I whispered.

  I had to make sure he would be okay. Then, I could leave. I walked over to the nearest car and pushed until the alarm went off. Looking back into the shadow of the store, I saw him rouse. He sat up looking dazed, but he appeared fine for the most part. He stood on shaky legs and walked around the front of the market, scanning the parking lot for his girlfriend.

  Sorry buddy, you got dumped.

  †

  After I left the market, I wandered around the city, hoping for some recognition or spark of a memory. Anything.

  Curiosity followed me around everywhere. I suspected each place I passed of holding some special meaning to me, but they could have easily been just another spot on a map. My boots grated to a stop against the barren sidewalk. Unfamiliar apartment buildings surrounded me on either side of the busy street. Never mind my lost memories. I was lost.

  I walked the city for hours before I found myself standing in front of a colossal and offensive stone building. Who would make such a gaudy monstrosity? Were those gargoyles on the roof? Personal architectural tastes aside, there was something familiar about this building. Oddly, it felt like coming home.

  Was I a millionaire in my human life? I definitely wouldn’t be mad about that, but it didn’t fit with what little recollection about myself I already exhumed. I remembered killing vampires. From what limited memories I gathered, hunting those douchebags was my whole life, and I was pretty sure there wasn’t any money in that profession.

  So I must be broke.

  And to top it off, I basically just called myself a douchebag. I had an inkling the memories weren�
��t going to get much better, but sucktastic or not, I had to face them.

  Inhaling deeply and stepping toward the building, I hoped to spark something else by taking a peek inside. Before I made it ten feet from the swinging glass doors, a gruff voice yelled my name.

  Well, he yelled a name.

  “Lucille Masters!”

  From there, the dots connected themselves. I surveyed my surroundings and watched eight men in police uniforms approach me from both sides. Their scents and hurried pulses gave away their fear.

  Hmmm.

  I’ve either done something so heinous that they’d be afraid of a single human girl, or they knew about my nonhuman status. Interesting. Humans weren’t supposed to be aware of them. I mean us. The thought made me squirm.

  Or maybe they were supposed to know about vampires. I was so clueless at this point I gave up trying to remember anything.

  They advanced slowly, like I was a wild animal ready to attack. My eyes stayed on the one closest to me who spoke first.

  “Keep your hands where we can see them. I’m Officer Winstead. We don’t want to hurt you. We just need to take you to the station for questioning.”

  Was it protocol to send eight armed officers to question someone? “Maybe you could be so kind as to tell me what this is about. I could really use help putting the pieces together myself.”

  “We were given strict orders to bring you in to the Chief. He prefers to talk to you one on one,” he explained, taking another tentative step closer.

  “The Chief?” Those dots began straightening, trying desperately to align themselves as they shifted to get closer to one other.

  “Yes. I’m sorry, mam, but we were given orders not to talk about anything case related with you out in public.”

  I slumped in defeat. All those dots were just tossed in the air like confetti. My options were limited. I could either run, or I could face my past and find answers by going with these nice gentlemen for “questioning.”