Eye of the Vampire: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (Fated by Magic) (Volume 0)

by Taylor Fray

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Eye of The Vampire

  Fated by Magic: Book 0

  Taylor Fray

  Tempest Books

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  1

  Warm water ran over her hands as she stood at the sink trying desperately to make herself beautiful—she was going to lose her virginity that night, and it had to be perfect.

  Four. Four layers of make-up and she still couldn’t smooth out her skin. And all the conditioner in the world couldn’t make her hair glossy. All through high school, she had envied those girls who could walk down the hall, their perfect hair tossing, their perfect skin shining, their perfect curves swaying like siren songs. And her. Emily Masterson. Hair like straw, skin like the moon. The craters along the back of her legs and her hips that stuck out and made her look like a bowling pin. Her only solace had been her mind, her mind that could penetrate spaces the girls her age could only stare at blankly. Straight A’s, honor roll, president of this and that. But you can’t kiss a report card—at least, it won’t kiss back—and so all through those years, she had pined for having something, someone, just like everyone else seemed to have. Until Vincent.

  Vincent Musca was the mysterious boy who had arrived at her school just a year ago. Wild hair, lithe legs, dark eyes like fragrant smoke, eyes that hid mystery… and pain. He introduced himself one day in the middle of English, disregarding the class, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist—Ms. Savino droning, the rubbery shrill sounds of her scrawling on the whiteboard, the whirr and whine of the room’s fans. He said, “I’m Vincent, what’s your name?”

  He asked her one day, if she would like to ride the train to the harbor. They did. They ate cheap sandwiches as they breathed in the salty air and sat on the pier. From then on, they had been together. They both felt like outsiders. Emily, the daughter of a widowed father who spent all his time with his new wife, or lavishing attention on her older brother Jared. Vincent, a foster kid who had called six different men “dad” before giving up and realizing he had to be his own. And so, they were going to face the world together: she was going off to college, he was going to come live close by.

  They had been putting off this night, and finally it had come. The night before graduation. It still made her nervous. But there was something—perhaps superficial, she did not know—that made her want to be completely embraced by Vincent before they graduated. To have that part of her life capped by entering into sexual adulthood, and then entering another part of life. He had been gone for two days now, barely responding to her texts, but finally he had responded, “I’ll see you tonight.”

  Emily rubbed her lips together. She had done her best, and she knew it was more than enough for Vincent. It wasn’t even so much for him, it was for her. Just once, just once in her life, she wanted to be beautiful. With one last glance at the mirror, she stuffed the panoply of make-up back in its bag.

  She startled as she heard her window sliding open. A chill ran up her spine, but she broke into a smile as she saw Vincent, his agile limbs slipping through the window sill. It was cliché, she knew, but for a girl who thought she would never have those clichés—a handsome boy kissing her by the beach, a boyfriend passionately in love with her, him entering through her window—it meant everything. But suddenly, she realized what a difficult feat it was to enter as he just had.

  “Hey, how’d you do that?”

  Vincent only gazed at her for a moment. He seemed different somehow. “I wanted to surprise you.” He smiled in that way that could always disarm her. He stepped to her. “I have to start practicing. You know, I have to make sure you never get bored of me all through the years.” He smiled wide as he wrapped his hands around her waist.

  “Get bored of you? You’re talking to a girl who likes to talk about Hamlet over lunch.”

  As they hugged close, Emily felt something different about him. Through his white v-neck, she felt his body, more thin and chiseled than she had ever felt it. All hard sinewy muscle. As he took her hand in his, his fingers felt cold. And now that she stood closer to him, her desk lamp casting its warm glow on them, she could see his face was pale. And yet his skin was lustrous, smooth like marble. Somehow, he looked even more striking than he ever had.

  “Are you alright? Have you been sick?” She ran her hand on his forehead.

  Vincent’s lip curled as he held back a laugh. “Yeah… I caught something a few days back. But I feel great now.”

  “I’ve been worried about you, you know.” She pulled him tight again, resting her head in the crook of his neck. It normally reassured her to feel the weight of his arms around her, but there was still something off. “You really do feel cold. Do you want some tea? Something warm to drink?”

  His eyes widened as he stared at her in a strange way. “No, I—no thanks.” He pulled away from her, his face crossed with strain.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  He shuddered a little, then turned to her. “Emily, I have to tell you something.” She rubbed her fingers together in anticipation. Vincent stared at her, his expression suddenly serious. “Something happened, something amazing.” She was wordless as she listened. “I think you know, that the two of us, we don’t fit in. We never have. Especially me. This world, it wasn’t made for… bastards.”

  “Don’t say that.” She stepped closer to him.

  “It’s the truth. I was always going to be that kid who no one wanted. Not amounting to anything.”

  “No, we’re going to build our lives together. Just like we planned.”

  “Are we? You’re going to a great school, to be a lawyer or a scientist or something. And me, I was going to just be that guy who tags along. I was going to be the guy who you’re embarrassed of. Who your dad looks down on. I was going to hold you back.”

  “Vincent, why are you saying this? This is supposed to be our night.”

  “It is,” he said, suddenly gleeful. “It is our night!” He was inches away from her now. He ran his fingers along her cheek, which made her feel self-conscious and thrilled at the same time. “And you look beautiful.” She stood there, trying to understand why his presence felt so different. She felt he filled the room now with a magnetic energy, as if some exotic animal, a white tiger or a braided hawk, had suddenly appeared among the mundane furniture and posters of her room.

  “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

  “That, and a lot more. See Emily, I’ve never wanted to just be another guy. I wanted to be someone. To be someone who no one could look down on again. And meeting you, I want that so much more now. To be someone who could give you something… more than anyone could. More than you could expect. What we can be… is more than anyone can imagine now.”

  Confusion was setting in to Emily.

  “I met someone the other night. Someone strange. Someone… amazing, someone powerful. He offered me a gift.” Vincent’s face lit up as if he were telling her about finding a room full to t
he brim with gold and jewels.

  “What gift?” Emily clutched her hands together.

  “A way to have anything I want.” Vincent’s teeth gleamed as he smiled. He strode to her desk, grabbed a fistful of change in his hand. “He gave me a way to never let anything I want slip through my hands.” Saying this, he tossed the change into the air. Their shine flickered, creating a cloud of coins for a split moment. Emily blinked just once, and in that time Vincent had plucked each and every one from the air. He held his closed fists out to her, like a magician. As a smile broke open on his face, his fists bloomed open, and she saw the change twinkling in his palms.

  “How—Vincent, how did you do that?”

  “The same way I got through the window. The same way I can do anything. Watch.” His legs flickered as he ran two steps up the wall of the room, then backflipped clear over her head. He landed without so much as trembling for balance. Words caught in her throat as he stood there smiling at her.

  Suddenly the room began growing dark. He placed a hand on her waist and took her hand with the other. It felt as if chandeliers were lit and music began playing as they began to waltz. She could swear they were in a different place, a warmly-lit ballroom suspended in a vast, dark space. She could actually see this vision surrounding her. It was vertigo and luxury at once.

  “See, we can do anything now, be anything now.”

  A shudder ran up her chest. She shook her head. The music and the chandeliers vanished. “Vincent, you’re scaring me.” She looked at her bed, the wood floors, the pencils on her desk—grateful to be back in a normal room.

  He stood there, his face drained of its glee. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

  “None of this is making any sense. What happened to you? Who is this man and the… gift? What is it? How are you doing these things?”

  “His name is Hadrian. He gave me… he made me immortal.”

  “Immortal? I don’t understand.”

  “You’re right. This must be really confusing. But you have to trust me. This, this is perfect. Just like we are.” He reached down to kiss her. She felt his lips. They were beautiful, but they were cold. It broke her heart, but she flinched back.

  “No. Whatever happened to you, I don’t know if it’s real.” She could tell this was hurting him, but she couldn’t hold back her fright. She stepped back, and he stepped closer. “Vincent, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Emily, I want you to come with me. To be like me.”

  “What? To be like what?” She couldn’t restrain the emotion. She had moved back so far, her back was against the wall. Vincent moved toward her, in a way she had never seen, with the grace of a panther.

  “You… we could live forever. Don’t you see what I am, Emily?”

  She shook her head, nervous. She felt the beginning of tears.

  “Emily,” he said, “I’m… a vampire.” Gleaming white fangs grew in his mouth, and she screamed.

  2

  3

  4

  The frost blew over his bleeding wounds. Even for a werewolf, it stung. Zak’s opponent was no more fortunate: blood smeared his bare chest, it matted his black hair and tinged it red. The crowd was dressed in traditional attire, furs, leather raiment, metal ornaments, and it was hollering, stomping, throwing praises and curses all at once in its revelry. This is what they loved, two young werewolves in their prime fighting for pure glory, and both Zak and Yuri were delivering. Both were still in their human form, though they had partially shifted so that they were armed with claws, fangs, and the natural werewolf strength they were born with.

  A gleam of sunlight broke through the gray sky and made Zak’s silver hair glow, as if truly metallic. In that instant Zak rushed forward. Snow splattered as he sprinted at inhuman speed. Yuri was waiting for him. He coiled his arm, ready to deliver a blow that would split a full-grown pine in half. He swung—but his fist caught only air. Zak had ducked and slid along the wet stone floor of the pit. Now, like a spring uncoiling, Zak swung a rising blow with all his strength. CRACK! The sound echoed in the pit as Yuri’s feet left the ground.

  Even at 20 years old, Zak was an experienced fighter. His father Gustav, The Hammer of the 13 Moons Clan, had been training him from the womb, he often joked. Other Fenrirs his age would have pounced on their opponent in that split moment after staggering them. In their eagerness, they would have walked face first, right into Yuri’s instinctive swipe of his claws. But Zak was not foolish like other werewolves his age—at least, not in the same ways. Yuri’s claws raked but Zak had stepped back, knowing that this was coming.

  As much as he needed to keep his eagerness in check, he also needed to stay aggressive if he wanted to win. A werewolf’s healing was legendary, especially a strong one like Yuri’s, especially in a fight like this in front of their entire clan. Zak seized the moment. He arched his steel-toed boot then brought it down in a crushing kick to Yuri’s stomach. He felt it connect, crushing organs, snapping ribs. Then he unleashed a barrage of slashing rakes with his claws. They were so fierce and vicious he looked like someone had spilt a bucket of knives into whirling tornado. Yuri staggered back, each blow drawing more and more blood. He fell back against a stone protruding from the ground. He was panting as he struggled to stand.

  Zak loomed over his downed opponent, saw how bloody he was. The crowd thundered as only dozens of colossally strong beings could. Zak glanced up to his father amid the crowd, standing next to the King. Rather than proud, the look on his father's bearded face seemed disapproving, disgusted almost. Confusion ran through Zak's mind for a split moment. It was an honor to fight during Einherblot. He had just bested a strong werewolf five years his elder, from a proud and strong family. He had won the trials of strength, he had earned a place at the King's table, what could he be upset about?

  In a fraction of a second his vision was overtaken by a stone that blurred toward him. KTHRACK! He felt a splitting sensation explode in his head. The world tumbled. He tried to understand what just happened when he felt Yuri’s weight on his back and his massive arm wrapped around his neck. …A werewolf's healing was legendary, especially one like Yuri’s. He had ripped the stone from the ground and struck him with it in the most primeval of battle strategies. Now, still trying to recover from the massive blow to the head, Zak kicked and writhed like a rabbit caught in the crushing grip of a snake. The crowd went on cheering, loving when the tables were turned in a fight. Werewolves, as strong as they were, having access to various inner magics, still had to breathe, and Zak was having more and more difficulty doing so. The edges of his vision began to darken and he felt his body going limp. With the last of his strength, he tapped the ground, and admitted defeat.

  As Yuri's arm released his neck, Zak felt breath rush into his lungs. It was an agonizing relief. Before he could gulp enough air to stand up again, he felt a massive kick to his stomach. It doubled him over and he collapsed into a fetal position. For all the wounds he had received in the fight, his pride hurt much more. Yuri stomped him a couple of times more for good measure. The crowd loved it.

  “You really thought you could take me? You're still just a pup,” Yuri scolded. Even reeling in pain, Zak knew that it was Yuri's own wounded pride that was talking.

  “A pup just… butchered you like a hog,” Zak wheezed out. The taunt earned him another kick from Yuri. He was going to go on thrashing him when a voice split the sky.

  “Enough!” It was a voice that the crowd hushed in obedience to. It was King Sebastian's. The monarch stood in his dark regalia, a face creviced with age and battle scars. “Yuri, you have won the trials of strength. We recognize you.” Yuri lifted his fist in the air, his chest swelling with pride. The crowd bathed him in cheers. “Zak,” the King continued, “you fought valiantly. I see you one day being a great Hammer of the clan. All here should take pride at seeing such a young Lycan fight like you have.” Zak had just enough strength to bow his head in respect, his nose rasping the icy ground. The King nodded ba
ck, silently recognizing Zak. Then he turned to his subjects raising his hands in celebration. “The moon wanes quickly,” he said, an expression that meant life is short. “Let us feast!”

  Slowly the noise of the crowd began dying down as they walked away, excited for the revelry of Einherblot. Zak was left alone in the pit. He rose to his knees as he slowly regained his breath. He had made it farther in the trials than anyone his age. He had been one blow away from winning them. He didn't need the entire clan to be proud of him, as the king had commanded; he just needed one among the clan: his father. But he had been silent, and even now as Zak stood there in the cold, bloody pit, he was nowhere to be found.

  `

  The hearth fire flickered against the stone walls and the carved wolf heads on the wood pillars. The clang of goblets filled with wine resounded in the air, along with the chatter of dozens of werewolves feasting. Zak sat among the lesser nobility, as every year before this one. Having thrown a fur pelt over his shoulders he looked like a true prince of Grey Home. At the other end of the vast, cavernous room was the King's table. There sat the royal family and the most important figures in the clan. His own father sat there. Zak, having come straight from a bloody fight that left him half dead, shirtless save for the fur pelt, hardly seemed Gustav's son. Gustav was dressed in a warrior's regalia. Ornate bracers cuffed his dyed leather shirt. A black cape was draped over his shoulders, held together by jeweled metal insignia of the clan. As soon as the great nobles were done eating at the King's table, the Boast would begin. Zak wretched at the thought of having to listen to the stupid thing Yuri would swear to accomplish, or what even stupider thing he would ask in return for doing so. He focused on the one thing that leveled every werewolf from the lowliest peasant to the mightiest king: delicious meat.