Wombstone (The Vampireland Series)

by Jessica Roscoe

  But Hades was angry that a mere mortal had turned him down – after all, he was one of the most powerful beings in all of creation. She had enraged him. He ferried her to The Underworld, but he did not let her drink from the River Lethe. And so her sorrows and sufferings were not vanquished, and she began her stretch of eternal imprisonment with the full knowledge of the injustices she had suffered.

  And so it was, that Hades hid his prized witch, tucked away beneath the world of the living for thousands upon thousands of years. Time passes at a different speed under the world we know, and far too soon Talitha was not the innocent girl she had been when she was taken. Her hatred and rage were so much that even her blood turned black, along with her soul.

  So goes the story of the first demon.

  There are a ring of fields that encircle The Underworld. They are beautiful, bursting with asphodel flowers. Hades, not wanting to lose any of his prized dead souls, cast a spell that caused the flowers to burn any who touched them.

  And so, there is a beautiful young woman who burns her hands on pretty flowers as she weeps, at the edge of the fields for all eternity, trying to free herself from a world she never wanted, trying to get back to the light.

  I hadn’t thought about the story until it invaded my dreams that night. It was horrible, truly awful, watching in vivid detail as the girl was taken, and imprisoned, and left to rot until she became a true demon. The most horrifying part of the nightmare, though, was right at the end, when the girls blood turned black. She bit into the soft flesh of her wrist and forced her black blood upon a helpless human, chained in a dungeon not unlike the one I had been locked in in Mexico. As she looked up, her features changed slightly so that I was staring at a bloody caricature of myself. And the young man on the floor beneath her, choking down her blood, looked just like Jared.

  I wanted to wake screaming; but something had stolen my voice. As if I were unconscious underwater, I stayed trapped in my nightmare until Ryan shook me awake the next morning. When I looked into his eyes, I knew, inexplicably, that he had shared the same nightmare with me.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “You can’t tell anyone about last night,” I addressed Ryan the next morning as I walked into the kitchen. He stood at the kitchen bench, dressed in black satin boxers and pouring coffee from the drip machine pot into a mug that said ‘I LOVE NY’. I raised my eyebrows in amusement as I read the writing on the mug.

  “Tell us what?” Ivy asked from her spot at the kitchen table, biting into a piece of raisin toast. I could practically taste the toast in my own mouth, complete with melted butter, the smell was so overpowering.

  I jumped, turning to look at Ivy in frustration. “How do you keep doing that?”

  Ivy smiled, not looking up from her newspaper. “It’s what I do, pumpkin.”

  You’re the pumpkin, I thought to myself.

  Only after midnight, Ryan’s voice responded in my head.

  I smiled, even after what had happened the night before. Sometime before I finally fell asleep, I had come to the realization that Ryan probably wouldn’t give our encounter another thought. I mean, the guy was a professional. He probably did girls like me all the time.

  At our private joke, Ivy scowled and got up from the table. I looked at her plate to see she had eaten all of her bread and left four perfectly square crusts behind.

  “A vampire who doesn’t like her crusts?” I asked, accepting the cup of coffee Ryan had poured for me. My head was absolutely pounding, and I was planning on lots of coffee and plenty of grease to get me going.

  “And I’m still big and strong,” Ivy quipped, scraping her leftovers into the bin. She stretched lazily, then put her coffee mug and plate in the dishwasher. I was quickly realizing how anally retentive Ivy was, how much of a clean freak she could be. The striped cushions on the couch had a magical way of being turned every morning so the stripes all ran the same way. I knew this because I kept turning them the other way, to see how long it would take her to notice.

  She was starting to remind me of my mother.

  Ivy bent down and tied her shoelaces. “I’m going to run down to Santa Monica Pier and back. I won’t be long.”

  I scrunched my face up, calculating the rough distance between Pasadena and the pier. “That’s, like 20 miles!”

  Ivy smiled. “What can I say? I’m awesome.”

  “And well versed in teenage vocabulary for someone so old,” I agreed.

  Ivy didn’t answer, just slammed the front door hard enough to make the walls shake.

  “She doesn’t like me very much,” I remarked, taking a mug from the cupboard and pouring myself some coffee.

  “Are you kidding?” Ryan replied. “She loves you. This is her being nice.”

  “I’d hate to see her bad side,” I remarked.

  Ryan just smirked and sipped on his coffee.

  I found a cloth and a spray bottle of disinfectant under the sink and squirted some of the cleaner onto the kitchen table, wiping the cloth over the smooth wood surface.

  I can’t believe you let her eat breakfast at this table, I thought. We should burn this table.

  “I already did that,” Ryan replied, not amused. “Last night.”

  “Yeah, well,” I muttered. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

  “I’d say she knows about last night,” Ryan said.

  “Shut up,” I snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Ryan smiled cheekily. “It’s our unmistakable sexual attraction,” he continued, gesturing at himself, then at me. “Your subtle ‘Don’t tell anyone about last night’ probably didn’t help things.”

  “Would you just shut up?” I yelled, and without another thought, I threw the spray bottle at his head.

  Normally, this wouldn’t have mattered, because Ryan was a vampire and should have moved out of the way with relative ease; and equally, because bottles of cleaning agents are usually stored in plastic bottles. But in this unfortunate case, several factors meant that Ryan was smacked straight in the eye. With a solid glass bottle full of bleach mixed with water – glass that smashed as it collided with his cheekbone. And with bleach that started seeping into the dozens of tiny cuts that littered the left side of his face.

  I watched in horror as the bottle smashed into a million tiny pieces, showering the kitchen floor with sharp slivers of glass that sparkled like glitter.

  “What was that for?!” Ryan yelled, clutching his bleeding, full–of–bleach eye.

  “Oh! Shit!” I yelled, breaking from my trance. I ran over to Ryan, pulling his hands away from his eye, trying to get a better look.

  “I am so sorry,” I cried. “I thought you would catch it!”

  More groaning.

  “What … what should I do?” I asked pathetically.

  “Tweezers,” Ryan grunted. “Get some tweezers.”

  I spent the next twenty minutes tweezing glass out of Ryan’s eyeball. It was disgusting. I threw up in the trash halfway through the job. My red wine hangover probably didn’t help matters.

  After I had gotten all of the glass out, I bathed Ryan’s eye in warm water, flushing out the bleach while he pouted and sucked a mixture of bourbon and blood through a straw.

  “I am so sorry,” I repeated after I had finished, being extra careful not to inhale the smell of his blood–spiked drink. “I swear that was an accident. Who keeps their kitchen cleaner in a glass bottle?”

  Ryan shrugged, still frowning. “I should stop treating you like a normal person. Just because you act like one, doesn’t mean you are.”

  I sat down at the table, exhausted despite only having been awake for half an hour. “What do you mean?”

  Ryan downed the last of his blood infusion and stood up, stepping carefully around pieces of glass to the bench. “You were just a weak girl before. I’m still treating you like that, but you’re strong now. Fast. You may still act the same, but you’re nothing like you were before.”

  Before. I pushed eve
ry sentimental image out of my mind and focused on the moment I was in. “Where does Ivy keep the vacuum cleaner?” I asked tiredly.

  “Get dressed,” Ryan said, pouring himself another coffee. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean this up.”

  I looked down at my Blairstown running squad t–shirt and frayed denim shorts. “I am dressed.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. Go put those skinny jeans and your striped tank on. Our appointment is in –” he glanced at the clock above the microwave “– thirty–seven minutes.”

  I didn’t budge. “Appointment where?” And since when do you tell me what to wear?

  “UCLA. And I’m just trying to buy us some time so you don’t need to do fifty–three outfit changes before you decide on the jeans and shirt you always wear anyway.”

  I jumped out of my chair. “Wait. UCLA?!”

  Ryan smirked, amused. “I told you. You were accepted. It’s orientation this morning.”

  My exhilaration turned to annoyance. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?!” I yelled, forgetting my coffee and running down the hall to my room. I heard the vacuum sucking up pieces of glass as I skipped into my bathroom. I kicked the bloodied bath mat from the night before into the corner. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

  I was changed and with fresh makeup on and in the middle of brushing my teeth when the vacuum stopped. Ryan appeared in the doorway that separated my bathroom from my bedroom.

  He saw what I was wearing – black tights, a gray oversized t-shirt and camel–coloured leather boots – and flashed an amused smile.

  I spat out a mouthful of toothpaste and tossed my toothbrush back in its holder. Turning to face him, I studied his eye. “How’s it feeling?” I asked, still feeling really bad.

  “Probably as good as your neck,” Ryan said, holding my handbag out in front of him. “Come on. We’re running late.”

  I glared at him as my neck throbbed on cue. I turned back to the mirror to make sure my long brown waves covered my healing bite mark.

  Satisfied, I took my bag and we both went downstairs to the garage. “Which car are we taking?” I asked, glancing between the Merc, the Range Rover and the other car, which had a name I had never heard of. I waited patiently while Ryan rummaged around the garage, looking for car keys.

  “My car,” Ryan said. “The black one.”

  “What’s a … Bugatti?” I asked, wrinkling my nose up as I looked the black car over.

  Ryan appeared next to me, keys in hand, and gestured to the car I’d been asking about. “A Bugatti Veyron,” Ryan said proudly. “Fastest car in the world.”

  “Right,” I said, getting into the passenger seat and pulling my seatbelt on. “So I guess we won’t be late?”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  On the drive to the university campus, my exhilaration turned to growing suspicion. “So, Sam works at the same campus we’re going to?” I asked Ryan as he drove at a ridiculously dangerous speed down the freeway.

  “Yes,” he replied, shifting gears again.

  “Stop showing off,” I snapped. “I hate guys who are into cars. Tell me again what other acceptance letters I got?”

  “Brown, Cornell, Washington State, UC. All on a full scholarship. Stanford, Yale, Columbia. All on full–fee programs.”

  “And you just decided that UCLA was the best choice for me?”

  Ryan glared at me, and my eyes began to water at the power that was in his gaze. It was because of his age, I realized. Because he had lived for so very long. But I refused to look away, even as my eyes burned.

  “UCLA is the only choice for you,” he growled. “You are being hunted by the most powerful vampire in all existence. You should be at home, under lock and key.”

  I folded my arms and stared straight ahead. “At home, your home, under lock and key? I might as well be –”

  “Dead, I know,” Ryan finished my sentence for me. How considerate. “Which is why I’m taking you to your orientation at UCLA, something I’m probably going to regret when we both get killed.”

  “Right,” I scoffed.

  “Is there something else wrong?” Ryan asked. “Something other than the obvious fact that you hate me?”

  “I don’t hate you,” I muttered. “Well, sometimes I do. You just frustrate the hell out of me.”

  “I would hate me,” Ryan answered, “If I were you.”

  “What would have happened to you, if you had just Turned me and kept going working for Caleb?”

  Ryan shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. Life would have just been normal for me.”

  “And if Caleb finds you now,” I asked, “what would happen?” I looked at the steering wheel, noticing Ryan’s knuckles turning white from squeezing it so hard.

  “He wouldn’t kill me right away,” Ryan answered calmly, too calmly. “He would likely torture me, throw me in a hole for a couple of months with no blood, until I went insane. Then, he’d probably throw a kid down for me to try not to kill.”

  His voice, the way he was sitting, looked perfectly ordinary – too ordinary. I felt the fear that held tight in his throat. And he was terrified.

  I put my hand on his arm. I hated that he was right. I hated that, despite how much anger I felt for him, it wasn’t the only emotion he made me feel. “That’s why I don’t hate you,” I replied.

  “But?” Ryan prodded.

  “But I’m afraid of you,” I admitted. “Last night? Something definitely wasn’t normal. It’s like you were compelling me to respond to you. I would never do that in a million years.”

  “I didn’t compel you,” Ryan replied, his face tight with worry. “I don’t know what happened. I’m attracted to you, sure, but I can generally restrain myself from taking advantage of teenage girls.”

  My cheeks stared to burn. I’m attracted to you, sure.

  “Is it because we’re bound?” I asked, remembering how Ryan had explained our link through his blood that had Turned me.

  “I don’t know,” Ryan replied. “But hey, You’re not the first girl I’ve Turned, not by a long shot. You are the first one I’ve risked everything to rescue. So maybe there’s something in that.”

  It made me wonder, for the next twenty minutes as we sailed down the freeway: Did Ryan have feelings for me? More importantly, did I have feelings for him?

  ***

  Half an hour later we were sitting in an open–air amphitheatre, listening to the dean’s opening address, when I noticed Ryan wasn’t paying any attention to the speech. Instead, he was paying a lot of attention to a hot blonde student sitting a few rows down from us. She was wearing a UCLA t-shirt that looked brand new, and denim cutoffs that showed off her long, tanned legs. She had obviously been keeping up her running schedule over the summer, while I had been sitting in a dungeon and then falling through a plate glass window and dying.

  “Oh my God,” I said, elbowing Ryan hard in the ribs as the dean walked off stage and everyone around us clapped. “You are not allowed to eat my classmates.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes endearingly. “Relax, kitten. Go, find Sam’s office. I’ll be a gentleman and introduce myself to this young lady.”

  I shook my head. “Whatever. I’ll meet you back here in ten?”

  “It’s a date,” Ryan smiled.

  “I wouldn’t date you if you were the last vampire alive,” I replied. “Stop acting like we’re a couple.”

  “Would you prefer I went back to being awkward and distant?” Ryan offered.

  “Yes,” I breathed. “That would make life much easier.” I eyed the blonde again. “I mean it, Ryan. Be nice to her.”

  “I’ll be a gentleman,” he replied, already checked out of our conversation and striding away.

  Sam’s office was pretty easy to find.

  “Professor,” I drawled, knocking on the open door. “Mind if I come in?”

  A huge smile broke out on Sam’s face, and I couldn’t help but smile back. “Mia!”

  “I like your office,” I said, looking
around at the mahogany bookshelves that lined the walls and the huge window that looked over the main quadrangle. “It’s … cosy.”

  Sam stood up from where he was sitting behind a computer screen, and circled around to the front of his desk.

  “You look happier,” he said, studying my face. “That’s good.”

  “This place is awesome!“ I gushed. I wouldn’t admit it to Ryan, but I loved this place. The architecture, the chilled–out vibe, the temperature (being so much nicer than the chilly east coast). Even the fact that Sam worked on campus was reassuring, even if slightly suspicious. I told Sam all about my orientation session, how the dean had said so many inspiring things, and how good my class schedule was.

  “Have you told Jared and Evie yet?” Sam asked casually.

  I felt my face fall. “No. Ryan only just told me we were coming this morning.”

  “You should call them,” Sam said. “You must miss them a lot.”

  I smiled painfully. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” I said quietly.

  “You should speak to them,” Sam repeated. “It’s not too late, you know. I spoke to Ryan, we want you to go home as soon as possible.”

  I immediately got defensive. I mean, all of these people, making decisions – major life decisions – for me? Wasn’t I supposed to be doing that?

  “What’s it got to do with you?” I said rudely.

  Sam stopped smiling. “I’m sorry, I didn’t –”

  “Did you have something to do with me coming here?”

  Sam’s shoulders sagged. He looked at the ground as if searching for the right answer. “Ryan told me that you got in to lots of colleges. Including this one. He didn’t want you going anywhere for a long time. I convinced him that you were going to leave altogether if he didn’t let you take control of your own life.”

  I thought about that for a minute. “Fair enough,” I conceded. “Thank you.”

  Sam smiled again, and I felt my whole body relax. The guy might be brooding and serious most of the time, but when he did smile, it lit up the whole room. “You don’t need to thank me,” he said.