The Last Vampire- Complete series Box Set

by R. A. Steffan

  Albigard made a dismissive noise and waved a fresh portal into existence. Rans stopped him with a gesture before he stepped into it.

  “Thank you,” Rans said, sounding as though the words tasted bad. “For staying, that is.”

  Albigard’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “I am staying because of my business with Caspian. Nothing more.”

  “Of course you are,” Rans told him, and waved him off.

  The Fae’s sharp green eyes raked over me, and then he was gone, his portal closing behind him. I took a moment to hope he wasn’t about to walk in on Guthrie in a compromising position, like Rans and I had done on the cruise ship at St. Kitts.

  Or, then again, maybe getting an unexpected eyeful would be just what Albigard deserved at this point.

  Edward sighed and rose from his chair on creaky knees. “I’ll arrange transport for your father and I back to Vallecito in a few hours. Darryl, you can stay at the vineyard house while I contact Nigellus.” Dad drew breath, probably to argue—but Edward raised a hand to quell him. “It’s relatively secure, and people will be less likely to look for you there than here. I’m still tasked with your safety, after all.”

  Mind you, I’d drawn breath to argue at exactly the same moment. Like Dad, I thought better of it before the words could leave my mouth. My father was... okay. Ish. He seemed more or less his old self, although being slammed with such a large supernatural info dump in such a short time had placed him noticeably on the back foot. He’d even coped relatively well with Albigard’s presence.

  If he stayed here instead of going with Edward, he’d become more of a target, not less. Not to mention the fact that we’d almost certainly be fighting like cats and dogs inside of an hour. Sad to say, any recent improvements in our relationship were largely down to him being almost completely non-verbal after suffering Fae-induced catatonia.

  And what did that say about our family dynamic? Yeesh.

  “Fine,” Dad said. His washed-out hazel eyes moved to Rans, and narrowed. “Now, though, I want to have a word with this guy. In private.”

  And, oh my god, were we really going to go there? Now, of all possible times?

  Apparently we were, because Rans held his gaze, one of those sharp smiles that had nothing to do with humor cutting across his face in slow motion.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, low and dangerous. “By all means, Mr. Bright. Let’s you and I go have a nice little talk. In private.”

  EIGHT

  “RANS,” I SAID, feeling suddenly exhausted. “If you ever want to get laid again, do not injure, traumatize, mesmerize, exsanguinate, or otherwise damage my father.” I turned to Dad. “And, you. Please keep in mind that I’m twenty-six, not sixteen. Also, that I’d be about ten different kinds of dead right now if not for the guy you’re busy glaring at.”

  “Certainly, love,” Rans said, in a deceptively mild tone that might have been more reassuring if he weren’t still watching my father like a shark watches a wounded seal.

  For his part, Dad only sent me a quelling look, probably for the ‘getting laid’ comment. Yup—Edward was almost certainly onto something with his idea of putting several states and a couple of time zones between the two of us.

  Was ‘getting some air’ still a valid excuse for walking out on people when you didn’t need to breathe? I decided after a moment’s debate that it was.

  “I’m getting some air,” I announced, and stalked off toward the patio door leading to the backyard.

  “I suppose I’ll just be retiring, then,” Edward said, evidently deciding that playing referee during a vampire versus human dick-measuring contest wasn’t within the scope of his bodyguard duties.

  Smart guy.

  The glass door slid open and shut as I left, jumping a little on its tracks as it did. I stood on the small concrete patio outside and looked up at the sky. The air was crisp with the promise of autumn. It would be dawn soon—maybe that explained my sudden lack of energy. I was getting better... but I was still a baby vamp, and baby vamps basically epitomized the concept of ‘not a morning person.’

  For a moment, the past and the present blurred together. Only a few short months ago, I’d stood on the other side of this very door, slack-jawed and frozen in place, as the guy I’d found lying in my garden shed with a shotgun blast through the chest broke the lock and forced his way in to drink my blood. I shook my head sharply, and the vision dissipated.

  Now, I was a vampire, too. A vampire... with all of the enhanced senses that came along with the title. I groaned softly as I realized that A) hearing was one of those enhanced senses, and B) my house had been built in the nineteen-forties, and wasn’t big on what you’d call insulation. Or, y’know, soundproofing.

  Voices filtered out from inside, low and angry.

  “... you claim to be protecting her, but you let her get killed, and now you’ve turned her into some kind of... some kind of a monster...”

  I could make out Rans’ accent in the next few words, but not the sense of the words themselves.

  “I’m her father!” That part was clear enough.

  “Then maybe it’s time you started acting like it, you self-absorbed arsehole. After all, you’ve got twenty years to make up for, and there’s no guarantee any of us will live that long.”

  Jesus tap-dancing Christ—somebody please stake me now.

  I glanced at the sky again, wondering how long I’d have to fly around the neighborhood as mist before the conversation would be over. Before I could decide to take a chance on the answer, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I frowned and pulled it out, glad that Albigard was out of electronics-frying range. There were an extremely limited number of people who could be calling, and I’d half-hoped it would be Len. Instead, Vonnie’s number lit up the screen. I scrambled to accept the call.

  “Von?” I asked breathlessly. “Hey! I didn’t expect to hear from you. How are you?”

  There was a faint pause; the sound of an indrawn breath on the other end of the call.

  “Zorah... hi,” Vonnie said. “Sorry, I, um—shouldn’t have called so early. I kind of expected it to go to voicemail.”

  “No!” I told her. “I was awake. I’m glad you called. What’s up?”

  I made out the muted sound of a nervous swallow. “Oh, nothing, really. Everything’s fine.”

  I frowned. “Vonnie,” I said, modulating my tone to something softer. “No offense, babe, but you don’t sound fine.” I recalled the details of her earlier email, dredging them up from among the jetsam and flotsam of my own troubles. “You said you owed some people money. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  It was probably presumptuous of me, but I suspected if I told Rans about her troubles and asked him to cut her a check, he’d probably do it, no questions asked. Strange, how money—something I’d struggled with for my entire adult life—had become unimportant to me in such a short space of time.

  “No, hon,” Vonnie said, still in that odd tone that spoke of someone trying not to lose it over the phone. “I already told you, I’m fine. But...” Another audible swallow. “...what about you, huh? I still don’t know what happened after that day at MMHA.”

  It occurred to me that I should have concocted some sort of believable story ahead of time that I could give to people when explaining that I’d been chased by Fae, rescued by a vampire, tangled with a demon, and subsequently turned into a vampire myself wasn’t appropriate.

  Oops.

  “Yeah... so, it’s kind of complicated,” I improvised. “My mom was a politician, right? And she got... involved in some pretty heavy stuff before she was killed. Some of it’s coming back to bite me in the ass, and I had to leave town unexpectedly. But, for what it’s worth, I did end up bagging the hot British guy I had the ten-minute date with. Or he bagged me. Not entirely sure which.”

  “The one you said was trouble?” she asked, trying to inject lightness into her tone.

  You have no idea, I thought.

  “Yep. That
’s the one,” I said.

  “That’s great,” she replied, still in that too-cheerful tone. “You go, girl! And... you’re all right now?”

  “For the moment, anyway,” I told her... which was technically true. “Look, Von—even if you won’t let me help directly with whatever you’re dealing with, at least let me give you the phone number of a guy I know. Well, not really ‘a guy.’ My grandfather. He’s good with money stuff—”

  Again, I was playing fast and loose with other people’s time and money. Before I could take the time to feel properly bad about that, though, Vonnie cut me off.

  “No, really, Zorah, don’t worry yourself over me. I shouldn’t have called—it sounds like you’ve got enough on your plate as it is.” The words were rushed; she was trying to extricate herself from the call. “I’m really glad to hear you’re all right. You had me worried. I should, uh, go. I’ve got work in a bit. Say hi to your cute British guy, okay?”

  “Okay, sure,” I said. “But... Vonnie...”

  The quality of the silence on the other end changed. She’d already hung up.

  “Damn it,” I murmured.

  Staring at the disconnected call, I debated trying to call back. As it had before, my own sense of hypocrisy stayed my hand. I was about to go into an all-out fight against an immortal demon. I wasn’t really in a position to be saving anybody, myself included. With a sick feeling in my chest and stomach, I locked the phone screen and put it away.

  Vonnie was a grown-ass woman. Not only that, but she completely blew me away in the adulting department—she always had. And she’d told me repeatedly that she was fine and had everything under control. Where did I get off assuming I knew better when it came to her life? I should worry more about my own life... even if my friend had sounded like she was on the verge of choking on tears.

  “Fuck!” I cursed, louder this time.

  The patio door slid open, and Rans stepped outside. Apparently, the snarling match between him and my father had wrapped up while I was on the phone. Yay.

  “All right, love?” he asked, taking in my no-doubt troubled expression.

  “Call from my friend Vonnie,” I explained tersely. “I think she’s in some kind of trouble, but she wouldn’t accept my offer of help. Is my father still in one piece? No depleted iron levels or rearranged internal organs?”

  “He’s fine,” Rans said easily. “I did promise, after all. One thing about it, I can certainly see where the stubbornness came from in your family.”

  “Pot, meet kettle,” I shot back, feeling tired again.

  “We should rest while we have the chance,” he offered, ignoring my jab. “Later today, we can get hold of Guthrie and see if he needs rescuing from Tinkerbell yet. Much as I hate to ask it of him, there are some logistical items that he’s better equipped to deal with than we are.”

  I didn’t feel any better than Rans did about dragging Guthrie back into the mess so soon after the skirmish with the Fae, but—

  “He’s kind of got a vested interest in the outcome of this,” I said. “If we somehow manage to take Myrial down, Guthrie gets a reprieve while she’s out of action, right?”

  Rans looked grim. “Assuming she doesn’t try to cut her losses and reap him for more power during the fight.”

  My mind balked at that image. “No,” I said, as though I could somehow will it not to go down that way. “That wouldn’t be strategic. She wants Guthrie alive and us dead, so she can corner the market on vampire blood.”

  I hoped.

  “With any luck, you’re right about that,” Rans agreed, not sounding any more certain about it than I did. “Come on, now. Rest. Sunrise is going to hit you before long, and we’ll both need all of it we can get over the next few days.”

  * * *

  Indeed, the following days were a flurry of activity. I’d expected Guthrie to be quietly pissed about being pulled back into our demon drama. Apparently, though, I’d underestimated his degree of hatred for Myrial. As we outlined our batshit-crazy plan, a hard light kindled in his dark eyes that had nothing to do with the eerie glow of vampirism.

  “I’m in,” he said, with a surprising amount of relish. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  He and Rans brainstormed what we’d need by way of transportation and supplies. A van. A chainsaw. A metric fuck-ton of bagged salt. A private and deserted place to hide out for a spot of light dismemberment and Fae portal-making afterward.

  Another surprise was the degree to which Guthrie and Albigard seemed to be getting along. The Fae had basically invited himself to stay with Guthrie until the endgame arrived, and could frequently be found sipping wine on the rooftop patio, the autumn sun burnishing his pale hair with a deeper golden aura.

  When I mentioned my surprise at their apparent rapport, Guthrie shrugged and said, “At least he’s quiet,” while giving Rans a rather pointed stare.

  Rans only snorted. “You love me, really.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, buddy,” Guthrie said.

  I hid a smile, despite the grim circumstances. But there were still several things that needed to be dealt with before Nigellus—and more importantly, Myrial—showed up.

  “We’ll all need to be at full capacity for this fight,” I pointed out. “That’s easy enough for you two in a city of three hundred thousand, but it’s a bit more complicated for me. And I absolutely refuse to drag Len into things again.”

  “Good,” Guthrie said. “That poor kid’s life is screwed up enough as it is.”

  “Still, it’s a fair point,” Rans agreed. “You’ll need a randy crowd to feed from if we’re going to do this properly— not just dribs and drabs of animus picked up from a handful of tossers at a bar or nightclub.”

  Guthrie scrubbed at his eye sockets and sighed. “Right... so as much as this subject pains me when it’s in reference to my granddaughter, I do have a suggestion.”

  “Oh?” Rans asked, looking intrigued. “Do you, now?”

  Possibly, I was a bit loopy from the combination of stress and a disturbed sleep schedule. Because I made a coughing noise and grunted the word “Hypocrite,” into my closed fist, as I remembered the scene Rans and I had walked in on when we’d been hiding on the cruise ship.

  Guthrie shot me a severe look. “I thought we agreed never to speak of that incident again.”

  I shrugged, and made a half-hearted attempt to appear contrite.

  “Focus, you two,” Rans said. “Guthrie? Your suggestion?”

  “I heard about a place a while back. Not my cup of tea at all, but I’d been considering dragging you there the next time you really pissed me off, as a form of backhanded punishment.” Guthrie’s expression turned sour. “Somehow, it doesn’t seem nearly as funny now.”

  “Guthrie...” Rans warned. “The point, if you don’t mind?”

  “All right, all right. I’m getting to it. There’s a club called ‘Faint’ down in Soulard,” he said. “Dress like a goth, and I imagine you’ll find what you need there.”

  “’Dress like a goth’? That’s it?” I asked wryly. “Cryptic much?”

  “Just trust me,” Guthrie grumbled. “And let me enjoy whatever subtle payback I can get out of this whole mess.”

  Rans shrugged. “If you say so, mate.”

  I met his eyes and shrugged as well. “Okay. Goth girl it is, then. Let me check my black eyeliner supply. And I might need to make a pit-stop at CVS for dark nail polish first.”

  NINE

  SO, APPARENTLY ‘FAINT’ was a vampire-themed club. Because of course it was. It took a bit for the realization to sink in after we arrived, but the moment it did I doubled over, wracked with undignified snort-laughter.

  Rans looked around with clear distaste. “Right. Very droll. If all of us manage to survive the next few days, this will definitely call for some sort of devious payback in kind on my part.”

  The door to the underground club was around the back of the old brick building. If not for the line of goths wai
ting to get in, and the pair of bright red upside-down crosses above the threshold, it would have been easy to miss. Beyond the entrance, the bass was thumping and the place was lit like the inside of a womb.

  Of course, neither of those two things particularly screamed ‘vampire bar,’ in and of themselves. The coffins scattered randomly around the place and the giant neon representation of a fanged mouth hanging on the wall behind the bar... did.

  “Wow,” I said, loud enough to be heard over the music and voices. “This place is legitimately awful. You never warned me Guthrie was hiding such an evil streak.”

  “Oh, he definitely is, but it’s well hidden,” Rans called back. “Not unlike any semblance of good taste in this travesty, in fact. So, shall we take our punishment with a stiff upper lip, or try our luck elsewhere?”

  I gestured to myself from head to toe. “Hey, now! I didn’t put on black nail polish and black lipstick for just any old club. Come on, let’s go see what the clientele is like.”

  Even with undead hearing I could barely make out Rans’ grumbled reply, but it sounded something like, “About what you’d expect, I’ll wager.”

  The patrons had a definite vibe going on. Not a supernatural one, admittedly, but also not quite... natural. I honestly wouldn’t have guessed that St. Louis and its surrounding environs could lay claim to this many people of indeterminate gender with shaved heads and tattooed skulls. Also, there weren’t many places in the city where Len would fall into the lowest quartile when it came to number of facial piercings.

  In the spirit of goth-ness, Rans had done a few quick and dirty piercings in one ear with silver rings in graduated sizes, along with one through the eyebrow on the same side. I’d declined his offer of the same, content to play the reluctant goth girlfriend rather than having holes poked through me—even ones that would heal within seconds once the silver was removed.