by Tanith Frost
I wonder what it’s like to be one of these people, dead and actually resting in peace. No fears or concerns. No pain.
But I don’t envy them even now.
My steps slow as I approach my parents’ graves, tucked under the branches of an old maple tree. I stop.
There’s another grave beside them, one that wasn’t there before.
My stomach drops. It can’t be mine. I didn’t leave a body behind when I died. Either my grandmother sold off part of the family plot to cover expenses, or she’s joined my parents, leaving Gracie alone. Or—
A soft rustling catches my attention, cutting off my thoughts as I switch into instinctive survival mode. There’s little shelter here—a few large monuments, trees that would cast heavy shadows if they had leaves on them. Not many places for me or anyone else to hide.
I don’t see them. But as I open my perceptions, I feel.
Void, channeled through vampires, razor sharp and overwhelming.
Hatred and ill will, directed at me.
I grip my weapon tight and sprint for the wall, but they’re too close. They’ll catch me before I’m over. I turn and crouch, ready to fight.
Five vampires slow their pace, spreading out to surround me. Their dark eyes are bright, excited, reflecting the streetlights beyond the wall. All are dressed in black.
Cold dread pools in my belly, weighing me down. I tell myself it’s just grounding me.
I expect a greeting of some sort—a challenge or an accusation. There’s nothing. The male standing in front of me darts forward at the same moment as the female to my right. I swing my weapon out at him, but he stops short of its range and lets his partner take advantage of my exposed back. As she throws her weight at me, I spin away. She misses, but I’m now in the path of another vampire, a short, muscular asshole who throws a hard punch that lands against my left cheekbone. It takes a lot to hurt a vampire in a fight—I’ve been thrown from buildings and gotten back up for another round. But he’s strong enough that white spots appear for a moment in front of my eyes.
I shake it off quickly, but this fight was over before it started. I’m strong. I know how to fight. But five against one isn’t fair odds, especially when they’ve obviously fed recently. The air is practically glittering with their dark power, and it’s as beautiful as it is terrifying.
A hard blow takes my legs out from under me, and as I attempt to roll away, someone lands on my back, pinning me to the grass. A needle pierces the skin of my throat, and the world swims in front of my eyes.
Not true death, though. They like to play with their prey, these ones, and I imagine they’ll have some questions before they finish me off.
This isn’t exactly how I planned it, but I’ve finally found the vampires of Tempest.
6
There’s nothing. And then there’s pain.
No thought, no reason, not even fear. Just total awareness of every part of my body, none of it pleasant. I feel as if I’ve been hit by a steamroller, tossed into a pit of lions, then dumped in a wet ditch for about a month.
My first thought, when I’m able to think anything, is one of relief—maybe the pain means my fire hasn’t risen to help the void heal me. The last thing I need is for these enemies to see any sign of that.
My second is to wonder how long it took for them to satisfy their craving for violence after I was blacked out and helpless. Fucking cowards.
A needle slides free from the flesh of my arm. Though it’s small in comparison to my other pains, this sensation is sharper, and whatever they’ve used to wake me burns as it spreads. I’m sitting up, though not by my own power. Tied to a chair, my arms and legs immobile.
I don’t move.
“Is she awake?” someone asks. Male voice, rough but strong.
“She is. Playing possum.” The second voice—also male—barely has time to register before a backhanded slap hits my cheek, turning the ache from my last beating into a fresh inferno of pain. I open my eyes and glare at them.
More than two. There’s the one who hit me, standing ready to do it again. He’s far older than me and surprisingly slender for someone who can hit so hard. But then, it never pays to take a vampire at face value.
There’s another standing near him, presumably the one who spoke first. He’s older still, his eyes as black as any I’ve seen. But his face remains young, his thick hair a dark blond that reminds me of raw honey. He’s powerful enough that I don’t need to use my gifts to feel him. Handsome, too, in a cold and terrifying way. He strikes me as wealthy and influential, dressed as he is in a tailored grey suit that doesn’t fit the occasion nearly as well as it fits his wide shoulders and slim waist. But something about his posture—straight backed but without a hint of stuffiness, looking ready for a brawl even at ease—suggests that he had to climb a long way to get to the top.
He stands with his arms crossed, appraising me as thoroughly as I am him. He doesn’t look impressed.
Nor do the others, a crew of three more vampires standing farther back to watch the proceedings. They’re so deep in the shadows that I can barely see them, especially with one of my eyes swelled shut. I can see the steel bars that separate their viewing area from the action, but that’s about it. Most of the room is dark. I’m the only one in the spotlight.
I pull at the bonds holding my arms behind the back of the metal chair. There’s just enough give that the rope scratches my skin. At least I’m not cuffed in silver. Either they’re overconfident or they have some other reason for letting me keep my strength.
…Which I’m keeping quiet for now. I learned many things from Daniel, but one of the most important was to hide my true strength and my gifts. Let them underestimate me until I can use it to my advantage.
Daniel.
He could be here. Is this what he’s endured in the weeks since they captured him? Bethany said she’d found him amusing, and if this is how they have their fun…
I grit my teeth hard enough that they should crack. I’ll break these bonds and slaughter every one of them if it means I get a chance to find him. I don’t care whether he’s injured or broken or starved or insane. They’ll pay for my pain and his.
Brave thoughts. Foolish, maybe, but they’re enough to remind me why I’m here.
The vampire in the suit takes a step closer and smooths his hair back with one hand. “What is your name?”
I stare up at him. He nods to his assistant, who slaps me again, not offering me the courtesy of evening it out on the other side. I open my jaw wide and wince at the pain as my lip splits open where it had begun to heal over.
“Your name.”
“Ava.” My voice is a harsh croak, my mouth dry as bones.
I swear he looks disappointed in me. Another nod and I’m hit with a punch to the chin that sends the chair rocking back. I can’t stop it. My hands are crushed, my head enveloped in a blinding flash of pain as my skull knocks against the concrete floor. My stomach heaves as the vampire who hit me hauls me back upright.
My fire wants to rise. I let the void come up higher, faster, hiding the fire in its depths. With any luck, there’s no one here who will feel even that as distinctly as I do, but I can’t take chances.
The older vampire gives me a hard look. “I don’t appreciate being lied to. Tell me where you’ve come from, where you lived when human, and who sent you.”
I glare at him. “Maelstrom. Born not far from where your goons attacked me. No one sent me. And I came alone. That’s your next question, right?”
His assistant prepares to hit me again, but the interrogator holds up a hand to stop him. “There. Doesn’t it feel better to tell the truth?”
A door opens and two more vampires enter. I can’t see them as more than silhouettes, can’t feel them under the smothering void presence of my interrogator. “Now,” he says. “Let’s try again. Give me your real name.”
Like hell I will.
“A—” I begin, ready to offer my fake name until they get sic
k of trying to beat anything else out of me. My voice sticks. “Av—”
“Aviva.”
The familiar, cold voice that speaks my true name hits me like a blow to the chest, carrying a mix of emotions I can’t begin to untangle—hope, relief, sheer panic. I search the back of the room but can’t see him. Can’t see what they’ve done to him to break him and make him betray me like this. Penelope’s tortured body comes to mind. Lucille’s shattered psyche.
Daniel steps past the steel bars that protect the others and into the light. My mind goes blank.
He looks fantastic. Strong, clean, dressed in tasteful but casual clothes. He’s not in chains. Not limping, bruised, or visibly scarred. I take an involuntary breath that catches in my chest.
I’d cry with relief if not for the hard lines of his clenched jaw or the sharp, deadly glint in his eyes as he stares down at me. I risk opening my perceptions, hoping to find that the contempt written across his features is a lie, that there’s something else beneath it—something I’ve felt from him on rare occasions when he let me in.
There’s nothing. He’s a stone wall, cold and unyielding. The vampire I’ve longed for since he left, who I’ve lost sleep over since I realized how much danger he was in, is looking at me as if he hates me.
My own emotions shut down as every part of me focuses on survival.
“Excellent,” the vampire in the suit says. “We had reports that she came from the direction of Maelstrom. I hoped you’d be able to help us. What more do you know?”
Daniel’s grim expression doesn’t change. “We’ve worked together in the past. Hunted rogues. She’s a low-ranking member of the clan. Strong, though. Could have done better for herself if she didn’t have a habit of causing trouble no matter what assignment she took on. If I had to guess at what brought her here, I’d say banishment. She might’ve gone rogue. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
I open my mouth to defend myself, but no words come out.
“Is this so?” the interrogator asks.
I draw a shaky breath. “Close enough, I guess. All but the rogue bit.”
No point lying if he has reason to believe Daniel over me.
Daniel crouches in front of me. I wish I could look away from the terrifying chill in his eyes. I’ve been scared of him before, but not like this. There’s nothing there of the vampire I fell so hard for, who promised to stand and fight beside me no matter what, who offered to throw everything away so we could be together. Tonight he’s the flawless, emotionless, unmovable monster I thought him to be when I started my training.
And I think that I’m now the enemy.
“I’ve seen her kill,” he continues. “Seen her cut into living flesh to weaken an enemy who threatened her.” He pauses, and I swear for a second there’s something other than contempt in his eyes. Pain, maybe, but it’s gone quickly. “She’s heartless. Willing to use others to accomplish what she needs and then turn her back on them.”
“Is she trustworthy?” asks a male voice from the back of the room.
Daniel smiles grimly. “She’s not typically a liar if that’s what you mean. I don’t know whether you can trust her, but if you’re smart, you’ll use her. If she’s been banished, it’s likely because she’s a threat to Maelstrom’s elders. That could make her useful to you—that is, if she can be persuaded to behave herself.”
“You sound like you hate her,” the vampire who questioned me says.
“No.” Daniel’s gaze is still locked onto mine. I want to look away, but I can’t. The room seems to spin. I want to get off. His smile disappears. “I don’t hate her, Lachlan. I don’t feel anything for her.”
Lachlan. High elder. Iron fist.
Fuck.
“Good.” Lachlan motions for Daniel to rise. “Then you won’t mind fighting her.”
Daniel stands and looks me over. If the request surprises him, he doesn’t show it. “Hardly looks like a fair fight. She’s halfway finished already.”
“At least it should be over quickly.” Lachlan produces a switchblade from his pocket and steps behind me. The blade slices into the flesh of my right hand as he cuts the rope. “We don’t need two vampires from Maelstrom. May the strongest survive.”
I may be free, but I’m too stunned to move.
Daniel peels his sweater off and tosses it aside, and an appreciative murmur passes between two spectators at the back of the room. He definitely hasn’t been suffering. His body is the same beautiful, brutal weapon I knew intimately not so long ago, but either my memory is failing or he looks even better than before.
I open myself again, this time to his power. He’s loosened his hold on it, allowing me a glimpse of dark energy so sharp it feels as if I could cut myself on it if I got too close. It’s harder than I remember, his armour and his weapon, flowing through him freely and easily.
He’s almost certainly killed since I last saw him. Drained the life from a human, tasted the incomparable, addictive power that we were created to experience but that he’d been denied by our society’s rules and his own impeccable self-control.
I’m screwed.
He glances back over his shoulder at me. “You going to get up and fight or just stare?”
Someone chuckles. Lachlan and his assistant step into the darkness behind the bars, becoming shapes so vague it could just be me and Daniel in the room.
He won’t hurt me. He can’t. Not after everything we’ve been through.
Daniel’s lip curls, showing off fangs I’ve so often wished to feel piercing my skin. “Fine.”
He lunges at me.
My senses are dulled, my body slowed by its injuries, but I knock the chair over and throw myself out of the way before he reaches me. He stops himself easily and turns to follow, smiling with dark amusement.
He could have taken me down. He didn’t. I wish I thought it was mercy and not him toying with me for someone else’s enjoyment.
Or his own.
He doesn’t make me wonder for long. I barely have time to find my footing before he’s on me again. I’m too slow, too weak. I know well how to disregard pain and make my body respond in spite of it, but the connection between my mind and muscles seems broken. I want to blame it on the drugs wearing off, but it could be my confusion, my unwillingness to hurt someone I care for.
The latter doesn’t seem to be an issue for Daniel. He’s not giving the fight his all, but it’s only because he doesn’t have to. I’m blocking blows, dodging, but he’s too fast for me to find any openings.
But this is Daniel. He trained me. I know how he fights. This might be my only advantage.
I let my mind go blank. My body takes over, falling back into old patterns, remembering his fake-outs and distractions. I’m not winning, but now I’m fighting back, dodging a blow to my face, taking advantage of how his momentum leaves his side vulnerable to attack. I don’t hold back. I’m not thinking about love or regret or debts I might owe. There’s only survival, the fight, and each moment as it comes.
My hand finds an opening, and I go for his eyes. He blocks me but not before my nails scratch deep into the skin on his cheek. He’s open again for a second, but all I feel is raw malice as he circles his leg around and kicks the fallen chair at me.
May the strongest survive.
He intends to finish this. My heart feels as if it’s crumbling in my chest, but I’m not going to give up. If he hates me, he doesn’t deserve that sacrifice.
A fine thought. I just have to make myself believe it.
There’s space between us now as we circle the floor. All is silent—not a breath, not a heartbeat, until a wooden stake clatters to the ground between us.
To human eyes, it would look as if we both lunged for it right away, but there’s a moment of hesitation, a split-second pause before either of us reacts.
I’m closer, and I’m still reacting without thinking. I roll forward and grab the stake as my momentum carries me back onto my feet. He’s ready, though, adjusting his attac
k the moment he sees he’s not going to get the weapon. He knocks me to the floor, picks me up by the front of my shirt, and pins me against the wall, his face close enough to mine that I could kiss him if I wanted to.
How many times over the past month have I dreamed of being this close to him again?
There’s a different kind of intensity between us now, the chemistry of desperation instead of attraction. But my muddled mind and battered body are still catching up to the change in our situation. I think I’d still tear the rest of his clothes off if I could, even as I know how completely fucked up that is.
He once told me I was his weakness. I now have no doubt that he’s mine, too.
If he sees any of this as he glares into my eyes, he doesn’t show it. He’s got my forearm in one hand, grinding it against the wall, squeezing so I’ll let go of the stake. “Pathetic,” he whispers. “Who taught you how to fight?”
I bare my fangs at him. “Some asshole.”
I bring my knee up between his legs as hard as I can. Daniel may be a vampire, trained to ignore whatever pain an opponent throws at him, but he’s not immune to it. He sucks in a hard breath and doubles over, leaving space for me to wrench myself out of his grasp.
But the stake is gone. He grabs on to it as I’m pulling away and twists it from my hand, throwing off my balance.
I’ve fought hard, but I’m so tired, so hungry for the blood that would let the void flow more freely through me.
Daniel was right. It isn’t a fair fight. But fair isn’t a word vampires use much, nor is it a consideration in our treatment of enemies. Daniel turns on me as I fall, stake gripped tight in his left hand, poised to strike.
I release my hold on the fire I’ve hidden so well. It doesn’t matter now. If I’m finished either way, I’m going to go down fighting.
The energy, once so unfamiliar and unwelcome, fills me and strengthens me as my only ally in this fight.