The Last Vampire- Complete series Box Set

by R. A. Steffan

  Guthrie was hiding behind a pair of Ray-Bans, giving the general impression that the blazing sun overhead was stabbing directly into his brain. I didn’t think it would be polite to ask whether his discomfort was caused by a hangover from alcohol-laden blood, or if it was a ‘newly turned vampire’ thing.

  Rans’ pale skin stood out like a sore thumb among both the Afro-Caribbean natives and the tanned tourists. He’d once joked about vampires needing SPF-gazillion sunscreen; I hoped the SPF-50 he’d slathered on this morning was up to the task. I’d done the same, figuring the last thing I needed on top of dodging our enemies was my nose peeling from sunburn.

  When I got to the front of the line, I looked over the simple menu placard and ordered a johnnycake with fried conch and star-apple juice, because I’d never had any of those things. If I was maybe possibly going to die soon, I figured I might as well expand my horizons while I still had the chance. Food and drink procured, I sat at a shaded outdoor table between two vampires and tried to ignore the chittering monkey begging for scraps—apparently a regular fixture of the place, based on the reactions of many of the other patrons.

  The meal was delicious; far more so than the hoity-toity truffle burger I’d had on the ship last night. When I was done, I tossed a tiny piece of johnnycake to the monkey, hiding my smile as it jumped up and down in evident glee at its good fortune.

  “So,” Guthrie said. “Plans. Do we have any, beyond ‘run and keep running’? Because—not to put too fine a point on it—if that’s the endgame, you can count me out. I’d rather go home and deal with whatever’s coming head-on.”

  I wanted to protest... to tell him that he couldn’t, that it wasn’t safe. But Guthrie already knew that as well as I did. Just as he knew that for him, there was no real safety. Depending on how the chips fell, he was either a valuable commodity for demons who needed a steady supply of vampire blood, or an irritating loose end for Myrial.

  To the Fae, he was an alarming development—evidence that someone wanted to make more vampires. And to me, he was... my grandfather, damn it. I’d already abandoned my father with people who might or might not be trustworthy when it came to his ongoing safety. I was aware that my festering family issues were now clouding my judgment when it came to Guthrie. But I had no idea how to stop doing it.

  Rans toyed with my empty juice glass, his thumb tracing lines through the condensation at the bottom where the ice was melting. “We need an ally—on any front, really. Otherwise, our position simply isn’t tenable in the long run.”

  “Albigard,” I said immediately.

  Rans’ jaw twitched. “Perhaps. Though in his case, the question becomes whether he has enough clout to be helpful to us, as more than a glorified taxi service from Point A to Point B.”

  “He originally agreed to help me because it would increase his standing in Dhuinne,” I said, aware that this particular subject was a bit of a metaphorical minefield as far as Rans was concerned. “And he’s investigating the fact that Caspian and Myrial are secretly working together. That seems like a pretty big deal.”

  “What’s the guy’s angle, anyway?” Guthrie asked. “Because from what I saw, the chip on his shoulder was barely big enough to throw shade over his giant ego.”

  I slapped a hand over my mouth to choke off an inappropriate bark of laughter at how well the description fit. Once I’d swallowed it back, I added, “Honestly, I’d like to know the answer to that question as well. Nigellus called him a ‘malcontent,’ and it’s obvious that something made him fall out of favor with the rest of the Fae since he needed me to get back in their good graces.”

  Rans was silent for a moment. When he answered, the words were quiet and grim. “His brother and sister perished during the height of the war. He blames the Unseelie Court for their deaths. It’s made him something of a gadfly within Fae political circles.”

  “Oh,” I said blankly, trying to picture Albigard with a sister or a brother. Trying to picture him... grieving. Had they been younger than him? Older? How had they died?

  I could have grilled Rans for more details, assuming he even had them. But there was a tightness to his shoulders that made it obvious this wasn’t a topic he wanted to delve into further, and I wasn’t sure there would be anything to gain from it, regardless.

  “I still say he’s our best bet, unless you’re hiding any other powerful friends that we haven’t managed to piss off yet,” I said.

  Rans’ mouth twisted with displeasure. “If I can come up with any concrete way that Tinkerbell might be able to help us, I’ll consider it. But right now, the crux of our problem lies with the demons. I’m afraid that’s where any permanent solution must ultimately lie as well.”

  “You can’t go crawling back to Nigellus,” I said quickly.

  “Of course I could,” he countered. “But again, I’m not at all certain that doing so would solve our problems.”

  Guthrie let his hand fall to the table, palm down. “Look. I’m just barely up to speed on all of this shit. But from a strategic standpoint, what I’m seeing here is that you’ve painted yourself into a corner by believing that you’re somehow required to save my black ass as well as yours and Zorah’s.”

  Rans’ eyes grew hard. “You think we’re going to throw you under the bus after coming this far?”

  “Yeah... that’s not happening,” I added without hesitation.

  “Then you’re both a pair of idiots. Which I already knew about Rans, obviously. But I had high hopes for you, Zorah.”

  “Still not happening,” I said.

  “I’m not interested in your martyr complex, Guthrie,” Rans said, a hint of anger lingering in his tone.

  Guthrie snorted derisively. “Clearly not, since you dragged me into this existence despite knowing damned well that I wouldn’t want it. Here’s the thing, though. You can’t fucking save me. I sold my soul to a goddamned demon, Rans. All of this—” He gestured at himself, and then at our surroundings. “—is a band-aid slapped on a spurting artery as though it’s somehow going to stop the bleeding.” A scowl darkened his face. “Which is absolutely the worst metaphor I could have chosen, since now it’s making me think of arteries, damn it.”

  “You’re alive,” Rans said flatly. “For a given definition, at least. Forgive me if I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

  “Hey.” I covered Guthrie’s hand with mine on the table. He looked at me sharply, surprise coloring his expression. For the dozenth time, I wondered what he thought of me. What he thought of the revelation we’d dumped on him regarding my parentage.

  “Zorah...” he said uncertainly.

  But I shook my head. “Just listen for a minute, okay? I don’t... really know if what we did to you was right or wrong. But we did it because we couldn’t bear the thought of losing you if there was any way at all to stop it. And now everything is about a hundred times more complicated than it was before. I get that.”

  He held my gaze, and I couldn’t read anything from him. Tension stiffened his spine, though he didn’t pull his hand from beneath mine.

  “The problem is,” I continued, “if we had it to do over again, I’d beg Rans to do the same damn thing. So you can’t ask us to just... toss you to Myrial like... like throwing a steak over the fence to distract an angry pit bull.”

  I was surprised to find my throat closing up. Something of my emotions must have shown on my face, as well, because Guthrie opened his mouth, but he seemed to be at a loss as to what to actually say. He closed it, regrouping, and then he did slide his hand from my light grip.

  “You’re not hearing me. Either of you. The point is, whether you want to or not, you can’t do a thing to keep this asshole demon from snuffing me out like a candle flame anytime he wants.”

  “We can try.” Rans’ voice had softened from its earlier gruffness, but his eyes were still intense.

  Guthrie’s jaw worked. “Yeah, you can try. And you can get killed in the process, you fucking idiot.”

  Now I was
the one getting angry. “Or we can get killed some other way, because in case it hasn’t been made clear, we’re all pretty much screwed at the moment. So excuse me if I’d prefer go down trying to protect the people I care about!”

  “You don’t even know me, Zorah,” Guthrie murmured.

  I huffed out an irritated breath. “Funny, you’re the second person to tell me that in the last couple of days. And guess what. The other guy was missing the entire point, too.”

  “Bickering is pointless,” Rans said, sounding suddenly tired. “Guthrie, mate—unless you’re planning on raiding the cruise ship’s silverware and staking yourself with a butter knife, our current plan is still the same. We’re staying off the radar, and staying near saltwater. The situation with Nigellus and the tithelings makes it unlikely that Myrial will reap you, for now. You’re simply too valuable as a chess piece.”

  “Is that supposed to be comforting?” Guthrie asked.

  “It’s supposed to be realistic,” Rans replied.

  I tried to find a bit of optimism to cling to. “Like I said, we made things more complicated by saving you, but maybe that added complexity will open up more options for us as time goes on. I mean, we still don’t know how things between Nigellus and Myrial will shake out, for instance.”

  Guthrie lowered his sunglasses and massaged his temples as though his head ached. “Fine. It’s not like I could successfully stake myself even if I wanted to, right? Myrial would stop me from dying, like always. I’m back on ice, same as I was before. And you two stubborn idiots are going to do whatever you’re going to do.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Rans said, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, then. You’ll feel better once you get out of this sunlight. Bloody tropical paradise, am I right? No respect for vampire sensibilities.”

  We left the little restaurant and wandered along the cracked pavement of the road leading back toward the cruise terminal. I could hear the water slapping against the shore nearby. The cry of seagulls split the air. A sign to our right pointed to the Port Zante Marina. Rans noticed my interest as I craned around, trying to catch a glimpse of the boats moored in the protected, manmade harbor. He steered us closer so we could wander along the wooden dock.

  I’d never had much contact with boats beyond the ferries and barges that floated along the Mississippi, back in St. Louis. Dad’s place in Chicago hadn’t been all that far away from Lake Michigan, but aside from seeing the water in the distance from a car, I’d never been there. The boats moored in the marina ranged from battered fishing vessels to small sailboats, boats with outboard motors, and a couple of sleek yachts.

  It was a peaceful view, but after the uncomfortable conversation at the food shack, I couldn’t seem to relax enough to appreciate it. I felt jittery and off-kilter, replaying bits of the argument on an endless mental loop. Rans’ fingers brushed mine, and I tangled our hands together, grateful for his presence. He gave me a reassuring squeeze.

  “You know, we never did double-check your tolerance for saltwater,” he said, frowning.

  I gestured ahead, to where the dock we were walking on terminated in a rocky spit of land that separated the small harbor containing the marina from the ocean beyond. “I told you it’s fine. But here’s an ocean, so I’ll prove it to you.”

  “What’s this?” Guthrie asked, looking between us.

  “Demons are vulnerable to salt, right?” I said with a sigh. “And I’m one-quarter, so he’s worried it’ll, I dunno, burn me or something. Which, I hasten to add, it won’t. Otherwise, the tequila shots would have gotten me years ago.”

  I picked my way down the rocky slope and crouched, swishing my hand in the water. Standing again, I flicked a few droplets against Rans’ tailored shirt before sucking on my finger for good measure. “There you go. One small step for a succubus hybrid, one giant leap for... something or the other. Happy?”

  “Ecstatic,” Rans said. “Strike one item off the list of things to worry about, at any rate.”

  We climbed back up to the road leading to the larger dock where the cruise ship was moored. I was still unaccountably edgy. Somehow, the unproductive discussion with Guthrie didn’t quite seem like sufficient reason for my disquiet.

  The cruise ship loomed like a floating city beyond the terminal building, a couple of private boats moored nearby appearing almost comically small by comparison. I wondered why the boats were here, rather than at the marina less than a quarter mile away. We approached the dock leading to the ship’s gangway, and I realized I was scratching absently at my arm. My skin crawled with invisible ants.

  I stumbled to an abrupt halt. My heart stuttered and pounded into double time. The two vampires whirled to look at me.

  “Keep walking,” I said, aware that I’d probably already given the game away to anyone watching the area. “Just... walk right on past the dock and don’t look back.”

  Guthrie’s eyes shot to the ship, and back to me, confusion marking furrows in his brow. But I was already striding past, forcing myself not to power-walk or worse yet, run. Rans was a watchful presence on my right, and a glance confirmed that Guthrie had followed in our wake.

  “What is it?” Guthrie asked, keeping his voice low. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Neither do I,” I replied. “But I don’t have to see them. I can feel them. The Fae are here.”

  SIXTEEN

  “CIRCLE AROUND THE building,” Rans said tightly. “We’re heading back to the marina.”

  “Are we sure it’s not Albigard?” I asked, latching onto that slim hope.

  “It’s not bloody Albigard,” Rans replied. “Though I’ll point out that he’s the only person who knew we’d be on that ship. I should have skewered him with iron when I had the chance.”

  My mind balked at the implication that Albigard had somehow betrayed us to the Fae, even as my feet carried me around the corner of the cruise terminal. It made a scary kind of sense, but even so—

  “No. Why would he do that?” I shook my head sharply. “I mean, why go to the trouble? If he were going to double cross us, it would have been a lot easier to do it back in St. Louis. We already know there’s a standing Fae presence in the city.”

  Maybe,” Rans said grimly. “I suppose it hardly matters now.”

  “What are you thinking, then?” Guthrie asked, demonstrating an admirable ability to focus on the practical. “Steal a boat and make for a different island? Try to lose ourselves in the biggest available city?”

  “Something like that,” Rans replied.

  We were halfway along the back of the terminal building, and I could see some of the taller masts of the sailing ships docked at the marina in the distance.

  “I’ve got an offline map of the region downloaded to my phone,” Guthrie said. “Can you navigate with GPS? I’ve piddled around on boats, but I don’t know jack shit about using them for ocean travel.”

  “That should work,” Rans told him. “Pull up your map and find me the best destination between fifty and one hundred miles from here, preferably before we reach the marina. Zorah, I can’t sense their proximity as well as you can. Are any of them following us?”

  I tried to gauge the feeling of skittery discomfort prickling my skin. “I’m not a walking sonar for Fae,” I warned. “But they don’t feel any closer than before. Maybe even a bit further away, like they’re all still on the ship.”

  He nodded. We increased our pace as we rejoined the road leading to the small harbor, Guthrie stabbing at his phone’s screen, pinching and zooming.

  “Sixty miles as the crow flies from here to St. John’s on Antigua. East by south, once you skirt the Turtle Beach peninsula,” Guthrie said. “That work for you?”

  “St. John’s is the chief port on the island, right?” Rans asked.

  Guthrie swiped at his phone again. “Yeah. Population of twenty-two thousand, and fairly cosmopolitan. Pretty sure I’ve also got at least one offshore bank account stashed there, too, if it matt
ers.”

  “It might,” Rans told him.

  We arrived back at the marina dock where we’d enjoyed a casual stroll barely twenty minutes ago. I looked around, surprised at the lack of any kind of visible security for the vessels moored there. There were a few people—owners, presumably—fussing around with the boats. A couple of them looked up at us curiously, but Rans ignored them.

  “Next question, mate. What’s your best guess as to the fastest boat docked here that’s not likely to have extensive anti-theft technology?”

  Guthrie stared at him. “Okay... one—I’m not a boat expert. Thought I made that clear already. And two—I’d imagine anything here that can get us to Antigua is going to require hotwiring at the very least. Do either of you know how to hotwire a boat?”

  “It can’t be too different than hotwiring a car, can it?” Rans asked with an uncharacteristic hint of uncertainty behind his tone.

  I scanned the motley collection of vessels, my eyes settling on one that was decently sized and looked fast. “Uh... guys? What about that one?” With a gesture, I indicated what my mind vaguely identified as a powerboat—a sleek fiberglass hull with an impressive-looking engine mounted on the back. The owner was one of the people giving us odd looks. “Pretty sure that guy has the key.”

  “Right...” Rans said. “He probably does, at that.”

  The strap of my battered carryon jerked rhythmically against my shoulder as we jogged around the edge of the marina. The hapless boat owner was leaning over his craft, a polishing rag held in his hand as he watched us warily.

  “Can I help you folks?” he asked in heavily accented English. “You lost or something?”

  Rans’ eyes flashed, and the dirty rag fluttered to the dock, forgotten. The man’s eyes glazed over, his mouth going slack. “Tell me if this boat is in working condition,” Rans ordered, “and whether it has enough fuel to get to Antigua.”

  The owner’s jaw opened and closed a couple of times before he answered in a flat voice. “It’s a good boat. It has enough fuel.”