Paranormal After Dark: 20 Paranormal Tales of Demons, Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Witches, Magics, Ghosts and More

by Rebecca Hamilton

  He used one hand to hold her off and tried to skid backward on his ass with the other. But he went nowhere, his legs seemed useless.

  “Like I said, what if I could make you into the greatest killing machine of your time?” His arm buckled from her relentless forward motion and her face came close to his.

  He knew where the scent came from now. The scent of blood, hot and thick. Dear God, it’s her, it’s coming from her. He forced himself to speak, hating the piss-weak sound which escaped, but there was nothing he could do about it now. “And in return?”

  “In return, you get to kill all you want. I want you to kill pregnant women, all of those swollen stomachs brimming with life. Your knife will run through them like butter. You will kill, and you’ll kill for me.”

  His numbed arm seemed to fall of its own accord from her chest. Images of sliding a knife through a tautly-rounded stomach filled his head. Seconds ticked by, timed by the beat of his heart until he smiled. And she did too. Her eyes sparkled. For a moment, the feeling of love came back. The knowing—although chilling—was very, very real. “I think I'm in love.”

  “Then lie still now.” She reached out. Her hand felt cool to his chest when she placed it over his jerking heart. The pressure from her delicate limb was undeniable, pressing his back onto the grimy floor tiles “I could tell you this won’t hurt a bit. But then, I wouldn’t be true to my name, now, would I?”

  Her growl reverberated through her hands and into his body, shaking loose a stream of urine. Fear called his name, and then made him hers.

  “Wait, no!”

  The impact of her bite was so sudden, he had no time to react. Mercy whipped her head from side to side, taking his body along with it. He beat at her head, his fingers ripping into her hair while he fought for his life. Bloody images flooded his mind, but they weren’t of him. Wide frightened eyes, red-rimmed, pleaded with him. Please, they whispered, don’t hurt me…

  These same words were in his mouth. His feet flailed and he punched at her face until she stopped moving. Hair the color of rich cocoa hair fell alongside her face, hiding her expression from him. He lay on the ground, his feet kicking in the air as he tried to get free.

  Please… don’t hurt me….

  She lifted her head to stare down at him, this angel of mercy no longer dressed in white. No, now she was dressed in scarlet.

  Her mouth and chin were covered in glistening red blood, dripping onto his chest. Pain roared through his body, pouring out of his throat and his mouth. But there was no sound. No shriek of pain to fill his ears, only the useless hiss of air.

  Air bubbled below his chin, bursting to splatter her dress and pop against her arm. He didn’t understand. What was happening to him? Why can’t I move, why can’t I get up and move? His mind fired… get up, get to a hospital. Fired… minutes, that’s all I have to get help... minutes. Fired… I… I… and his body failed.

  He stilled for a heartbeat… and then he was kicking, thrashing in the air, fighting. The more he panicked, the more flecks of blood sailed through the air around him. He tried to breathe. Something that had always come so natural evaded him. Cool air coated his throat and metal trickled down into his chest to fill his lungs. He tried to cough, but more of it came. Thick, metallic, choking. He was drowning in his own blood.

  No!

  Fresh blood shot into the air and then fell like grisly water fountain to coat his face. He dragged his hand along the floor, pushing it against his body to reach for his throat in one last effort to save himself.

  He shouldn’t have done that.

  Bone shards pierced his palm where the once-soft flesh of his neck had been. He stared up at her, understanding now why he could no longer speak. Hot spurts of blood caused his fingers slip into the jagged hole that had once been his throat, his cold hand warming while he faded away.

  “See you on the flip side,” Mercy whispered, her white teeth shone bright, her full lips stretched, stretched into a cruel smile.

  Chapter 5

  Rashda

  THE ANGEL AZRAEL has come, Rashda. It is time.

  Rashda closed her eyes, exhaled and opened herself up to her gift once more. A vision of Azrael appeared before her, his presence alone demanding. Calculating, guarded eyes hid everything from her, as though he were some secret she should keep but never know. His body was made of flesh and bone. A mortal’s body. Like hers, mortal was far from the truth. His wings spanned the breadth of the cavern behind him, where she stood. The rustling of feathers sounded like whispers, enticing her closer to hear the secrets they held.

  Death rode on those black wings. Death, destruction, and ultimately creation, as the prophecy foretold. A prophecy she had guarded alone for hundreds of years, but not anymore. With Azrael born into human form, Rashda knew the time of prophecy had ended. The battle for survival would now begin.

  Rashda turned away from the vision, instead reaching out to touch the words of the prophecy. She ran her fingers over the words carved into the heart of the mountain Lythe while the angel waited before her. Flesh and blood against eternal life. The war for survival will be fierce and many will fall. But be warned. When the dust settles, only one will remain.

  The language had been carved by hands which were no longer of this world and had not been for many lifetimes. How she wished she could have known them, those bloody, calloused hands that spent so many years gouging this unforgiving rock, desperate to convey this message. The words carved into the stone had taken form, and he stood before her now. Rashda could only hope the Family would survive.

  Rashda trembled under his gaze, frightened not for her, but for humanity itself. This was the first time he had come to her. Usually she saw only the destruction he would leave behind.

  “We're not ready.” Her voice trembled in the dark, although it was not the dark she was afraid of.

  His tone reflected the rock around them. “You don’t have a choice.”

  “Is there no other way?”

  “No.”

  Rashda’s heart sank. Her spirit felt weighed down by the knowledge of what would now happen. This coming war would leave no one untouched. Tears welled in her eyes while she stared at the angel. “Please, Azrael. What about the others, what about my sister?”

  He ignored her, instead stretching out his wings. “Send the message, Rashda. My birth is near and you know what happens if I am taken. The future rests with my human mother and the detective. The future for everyone.”

  A cry escaped her lips as a glimpse of the future came to life in her mind. A future where the human woman and the detective had failed. Where life was no more and vampires ruled this world. Where the remaining humans were hoarded like cattle and the evolution of the soul was ended by sharp fangs.

  Rashda bowed her head in acknowledgment, trying to swallow back the bitter taste her vision evoked. “I understand. I will send the message.”

  Azrael nodded and turned from her, his features melting into the darkness. He stopped and gazed back, piercing her with arctic blue eyes. “Remember, the humans are not to know what I am.”

  Rashda nodded, unable to speak; because her throat felt like a desert. She watched Azrael disappear into the inky blackness, leaving his harrowing words behind. A sob broke through her clenched lips as she opened her eyes and collapsed to the ground. She gripped the fabric of her white dress, clenching it tight, and unleashed her anguish onto the mountain floor. Her fists made no mark on the mountain, but the icy floor permeated her dress, quelling the torrent inside. Her body shook and she reached out to touch its icy walls. The mountain was more than her home. It was her prison. The endless granite walls served as her bars, her last hold on reality.

  “You care too much.”

  She lifted her head to the voice. The Mistress of Shadows seemed to float from the darkness to her right to hover before her. Her black and silver hair splayed out around her body. The strands lashed her skin like a wild hurricane and at the center of this storm were obsidia
n eyes. Her Mistress was only one part of what was called the Balance. She was one half of right and wrong, yin and yang, mortal and immortal. This balance was what life and survival of all species depended on.

  The Mistress moved to stand beside the Master of Light. Both beings created a barrier where shadows fought against radiance, one as powerful as the other. The Master towered over Rashda while she lay on the mountain floor. White pants hugged the outline of his lower body, the seductive curve of his thighs eclipsed only by his rippled stomach and strong, bared chest. His hard jaw and blazing orange eyes were outlined by a mane of blonde hair.

  Rashda answered her Mistress’ question, holding her voice strong and true. “Is that not my purpose? To care and to fight for them?”

  Her Mistress’s brow rose. “You care for the humans that much?”

  Rashda’s answer was simple. Her reply was the same as it had always been. Her sister, Kali, had been born a warrior. Rashda had been born to see and to feel. Neither she nor Kali had been left unscathed by their ordained purposes. “I care for life.”

  “You do realize vampires will win? It is inevitable, my child. Save your tears for after the battle when the immortals have won, for they will be tears of joy.”

  Rashda held her stomach and rocked forward. No, this cannot happen. The vampires will not stop, not until every living thing in this world is dead. The thought alone was traumatic. But their ruthless destruction wasn’t the worst of it.

  “Then why do we fight? Kali, Grimm, Harmony, Smoky, Jinx, and the star child? What of the star child, Mistress?” Rashda pushed herself up from the floor to face the luna goddess.

  The Master’s eyes searched her own and then sought the darkness where Azrael had disappeared. “It is time?”

  Rashda nodded, wondering how he had known and whispered, “Yes, my Master.”

  He turned back to sneer at her, “Why do this? Let them fight it out and see who is left standing, as the prophecy says.”

  Rashda whimpered while the blazing eyes of her Master bore into her. She withdrew, curling her body away. He had always frightened her and his indifference to the mortal world worried her. She turned to the Mistress, begging with a look to say something, to come to her defense, as she had done so many times before.

  “She has to try,” said her Mistress. “It is their role to play, is it not?”

  The Master huffed and turned away from her, staring at the prophecy on the wall. The words carved into the rock were beyond even Rashda’s years. It was only by the connection she shared with these primeval beings that the symbols and the words were revealed, along with their meaning. She guessed this language was as old as the Master and Mistress themselves, in the time when the Earth was no more than a glimmer in the vastness of space.

  A sun was carved on the back of an image of an angel. And in the sun’s belly lay the moon. The picture was of Master and Mistress as one. A wild vine was woven around the sun creating a platform for the words of the prophecy. And although the image was breathtaking, it also filled Rashda with fear, for the ancient dialect foretold of a war. Rashda thought this time would never come—how wrong she was. In the heart of this circle was the sun, the flames etched so finely, that in flickering candle light, you would almost swear they moved.

  “Fine. Let her send the messages. It will do no good in the end. It is already written that immortals shall win.”

  His gaze burned her like hot coals and she couldn’t help but cry out. He lunged for her, grabbing her by the shoulders with searing hands. “This time the meek shall not inherit the earth!”

  “Please, Master of Light. She is trying to uphold the Balance. Leave the child alone.”

  He straightened and stepped back, never taking his eyes off her. “Remember your place here, Seer. Remember your vows.”

  With that cold warning both he and the Mistress disappeared, plunging Rashda into the darkness of the mountain once again. She swallowed her fear and gathered herself. The Family had a job to do. Someone had to fight for the mortals. Someone had to fight for life against the overwhelming sea of undead.

  Rashda and her sister Kali, along with the others, were named the Family. A group of immortals who were the last of their lines and for some, that line hadn’t been very long to start with. Most of them came from different species, Grimm was a lycan, Smoky a djinn, Scribe was the star child. Harmony and Jinx were two of the original vampires created.

  Each was led here for a reason. Each sacrificed their freedom fighting for the Balance. They fought against the vampires, forgoing more than their lives in the process. There were many who had been killed, for immortal, by definition, only meant harder to kill.

  “Rashda, it is time.”

  Her head snapped up as the voice of her Mistress invaded her thoughts. How long had she been sitting here crying? She nodded, wanting to wipe away her tears, but her hands refused to move. Instead her body slumped and numbness filtered through her mind, weighed down with her sacrifice.

  Rashda and her sister Kali were born from the Mother of All, Parvati herself, Rashda being the eldest. For her, the title of older sister carried with it great responsibility. It was this duty that kept her here, hidden from the outside world, hidden from Kali herself. For Kali, she allowed her spirit to be held captive. For Kali she suffocated, allowing her calling to be used for the whims of others. For Kali, she wept.

  The Mistress bent toward her as Rashda’s soul shifted within the confines of her body. Her Mistress’s last instructions were the chains that bound her here. “Remember your vows, Rashda.”

  Rashda’s breath was a conduit. On the sixth breath she felt herself soar and she left her flesh behind. Rashda opened her spirit to the mountain and moved through the walls. The shimmering flecks in the granite sparkled like stars upon the night sky as she passed through the mountain to where the remainder of the Family lived. She sensed their locations and pulled away, instead turning to the room occupied by the star child, Scribe.

  She hovered over the tiny mound in the bed. His chosen body confined his brilliant form, a star in the form of a boy. His flashing machines… computer... blinked at her, waiting. Rashda could feel Scribe’s presence though the machine. She could feel his fingers fly across the keyboard and his words raced across her mind. Her spirit moved within the machine. Electric currents moved at her will, opening the files she needed.

  The words of Azrael echoed through her spirit. The future rests with my human mother and the detective. The future for everyone. She had to find the detective. She had to find a way for him to locate the human woman. She had to find a way to make him care.

  Inbox… New mail… ascott@blazemail.com.au... Subject: Guardian.

  To Adley Scott,

  You do not know me. My name is Rashda and I need your help. There is a young woman who is in trouble. You will find her by the side of a road. Within her body, she carries a great burden. Do not dismiss this message, guardian. Only you can help her. You must bring her to the mountain Lythe. Here, the Family will protect her. Heed these words Adley Scott, for you are the guardian and the future shall be held in your hands.

  Rashda.

  Chapter 6

  Eve

  THE PUDDLES OUTSIDE swelled until they joined one another around Quinn's Pharmacy. Closing time couldn't come fast enough. Eve watched the clock, willing it to move faster while stacking the last of the vitamins on the shelf. Fifteen minutes to go.

  Rain battered the front windows and the wind howled under the door as though it were a banshee and wanted in. Eve pulled her cardigan tighter over her body, stretching the moth-eaten holes wide in the brown weave. The old threads provided not only warmth, but comfort, something to sooth her frail nerves. With some effort, she pushed herself up from the plastic footstool, closing the cardigan tight. She was tired—no, more than tired—she felt downright exhausted.

  The bell over the front door announced a late customer. She dragged her swollen belly around the piled boxes toward the counter
, where she could see the back of a hooded jumper move through the aisle. “Can I help you?”

  Eve spoke louder than normal, compensating for her lack of enthusiasm and the thundering rain. The customer—a man, by his build—either ignored her or hadn't heard. She stepped from behind the counter, finding him in the first aid aisle. “Can I help you, sir?”

  She could almost feel the faceless shadow taking in the curves of her body under her now too-thin cardigan. Her hand unconsciously went to her rounded stomach, creating another barrier for her child from his gaze. Eve stood transfixed, wanting him to move and reveal his face, not to her, but to the camera above the counter.

  “We have no pseudoephedrine here. It’s kept offsite by the pharmacist, same with all the morphine and codeine, if that's what you're after.”

  Her voice was strong, even though the sound died away in the howling wind. She'd had drug addicts in here, strung out and looking for the easiest fix. She'd even been held up with a syringe filled with tomato sauce while a skinny man twitched and screamed at her for drugs. She had handed them out, calmly and carefully. But there was something about this man. His controlled manner told her he was different.

  His movements were slow and deliberate. He turned away from the bandages to stand directly in front of her, never once looking at the shelves behind the counter. Her stomach rolled with an awful feeling, causing her to grip her cardigan closer. Get him out of the store. Her gaze sought out the front door and the locks which would protect her. She cleared her throat, not wanting to appear weak or vulnerable. “We're closing up now, so you'll need to make your purchases.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, the pharmacist and I. We have the police coming to escort us to our cars. They'll be here any minute now.” She looked toward the clock.

  “Police?”