by A. J. Colby
Another punch like that and I was sure to be out for the count, but I wasn’t about to get taken out lying flat on my back. Using one of the chairs in front of Cordova’s desk, I hauled myself up, relieved when I didn’t fall back down in an embarrassed and dizzy tangle.
“You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that,” I said. “I’m gonna tear your shriveled black heart out through your ass.”
Just as soon as the room stops spinning, I added to myself.
“You’re pathetic,” he spat back. “It was nothing but pure dumb luck that saved you from the Day Crazed younglings.”
“That was you?”
“Of course it was. Who else would it be?”
“Honestly? I thought Chrismer was trying to get rid of me,” I admitted, my brain still too rattled to come up with a lie. Glancing at her where she remained standing stiff beside Cordova’s desk I lifted my shoulders in a brief shrug.
“Trust me, if I wanted to get rid of you, I wouldn’t outsource the task,” she sneered, the threat behind her words sending a shudder down my spine. Human or not, she was more dangerous than I gave her credit for.
“Enough!” Cordova said in a voice that, although quiet, commanded the collective attention of the room.
Dismissing Chrismer and me as if we were no longer of importance, Cordova’s attention was narrowed down to his progeny. “You would betray me, Marcus? You would deal with the Children of Cain? Why?” his words started as a fierce whisper, but grew steadily in volume until his last question was a thunderous bellow.
“I’ve betrayed you no more than you have me,” the bald-headed vamp spat back, words dripping with scorn. “You’re a disgrace to your people, and this city. Valuing a human above even your own bloodline,” he ranted, turning milk-white eyes towards Chrismer. She showed no outward signs of discomfort or alarm, but I could smell the sour note of fear coming from her, and was sure that the two vampires could hear the furious pounding of her heart.
“You would dare to question me? I, who gave you life?”
“You gave me servitude,” Chuckles snarled, spittle flying from his lips. “You gave me bones already picked clean by your shlyukha krovi.”
I didn’t know what his last words meant, but from the angry flush that colored Chrismer’s cheeks, I didn’t think it was a sweet endearment aimed at the Day Servant. Either fueled by anger, or borrowing speed and strength from her master through their bond, she stepped close to Chuckles within the blink of an eye and landed a furious slap across his face.
“I am no one’s whore,” she hissed, eyes flaring silver.
When she stepped back, visibly shaking, I saw that Chuckles’ cheek bore a perfectly shaped pink hand print and the dark blood oozing from the scratches I’d inflicted was smeared across his face. A minute tensing of his muscles was the only warning he gave before moving towards Chrismer, hands outstretched to wrap around her delicate, human throat. Cordova lurched into motion at the same instant, his greater age and strength making the other vamp seem slow in comparison. Between one heartbeat and the next, he had traveled from behind his desk to materialize between his lieutenant and his Day Servant. Only the air stirring the stray curls against my cheeks signaled his passage.
Struggling to track what was happening while staying out of the fray, I could do little more than stand by and watch Cordova bat Chrismer out of the way as he closed in on the other vamp. Chuckles couldn’t get out more than just a low sound of alarm before he was reduced to a gurgling gasp by the fingers curled around his neck. With no need to breathe besides the oxygen it took to speak, Chuckles wasn’t in any danger of being choked to death, but that didn’t erase my certainty he was moments away from meeting the final death.
Frozen in shock and fear, I could only watch as Cordova drove Chuckles down to his knees, his grip growing tighter, threatening to crush the bones in the bigger vamp’s neck. It wouldn’t kill him, but it was guaranteed to hurt like hell and leave him unable to speak. Sensing that my chances of discovering who Chuckles had been working with were slipping through my fingers, I cried out.
“Wait! I need to ask him something.”
At first Cordova didn’t appear to have heard me, but after a pause that felt like it lasted hours, he eased his grip and took a slow step back.
Daring to move forward to stand beside Cordova, I looked down at Chuckles. His face was as pale as ever, save for the dark smear of blood and the lingering imprint of Chrismer’s hand. Milk white eyes stared up at me in defiance while a cocky smile curved his lips. He knew as well as I did that he was going to meet his end whether he helped me or not. He held the cards, and he wanted to be damn certain I knew it.
Seeing his smug smile, even in the face of death, reignited the fire that smoldered in the center of my chest. Innocent people had died, lives had been ruined, and a friend of mine had been brutally attacked, all because his tender feelings had been hurt because “Daddy” didn’t love him enough. His petty jealousy made me see red, and it took a herculean effort to resist picking up where Cordova had left off.
“You’re working with someone. Who is it?” I demanded in a growl that was more wolf than human.
I didn’t expect him to give up his partner, so it came as no surprise when he replied in a lackadaisical sing-song tone. “Poor little wolf, doesn’t know who to trust. How sad.”
Beside me, Cordova was devoid of emotion, his fury passing beyond the realm of mortal detection into a black and unfathomable abyss. My skin crawled with the desire to move away from the vacuum of hatred he had become. Standing my ground, I experienced a swelling of vindication when Chuckles cringed and leaned a fraction of an inch away from the master vampire.
“Answer her and I will grant you an honorable death.”
Chuckles’ abrasive bark of laughter was like a sharp slap to the face after the controlled quiet of Cordova’s voice. “Fuck you. I have nothing else to say to you or the wolf. Go ahead and kill me.”
If Cordova was at all surprised or disappointed by his progeny’s response, he didn’t show it. His voice, when he spoke, was as bland and emotionless as if he were discussing the order to restock the bar in the club. “So be it.”
I don’t know what I’d been expecting in terms of Chuckles’ death sentence, perhaps a ceremonial affair complete with heavy velvet robes, indecipherable chanting, and a sacred weapon of some sort, all of it taking place in the subterranean tunnels beneath the club. Whatever it was, it wasn’t watching in horror as Cordova literally tore the other vampire’s head off.
There was a noise akin to tearing paper followed by the thump of Chuckles’ head landing on the floor at his feet. It took me a second to realize that the moisture on my face wasn’t tears of regret but the sour smelling blood of the now headless vamp slumped in front of me. The feeling of it tracking down my face combined with the sight of the bloody stump where Chuckles’ head had rested seconds before was enough to send my stomach into a full on revolt. Turning my back on the grisly scene, I was already moving towards the trash can I’d glimpsed behind Cordova’s desk when Chrismer pushed it into my hands.
* * *
My stomach was still giving the occasional spasm when I slumped down into one of the chairs in front of Cordova’s desk, cradling the trash can in my lap and wiping my mouth on back of my hand. I hadn’t expected there to be so much blood, or for it to be so dark that it looked more like ink spreading across the floor, staining the white carpet. Silently, Chrismer sat down in the chair beside me, her face several shades paler than usual beneath her perpetual tan. It gave her a sickly look, and in a rare moment of charity, I offered her the use of the trash can. Not much ruffled the ruthless journalist, but I suppose if anything could, it would be the sight of her vampire master decapitating someone in the middle of his office.
Sneering at the proffered can and its repulsive contents, she waved it away with a manicured hand that I noted with a degree of smug satisfaction trembled ever so slightly. Lifting my shoulders in a shr
ug, I set the trash can down and pushed it away with the toe of my boot, and then felt the bottom drop out of my own stomach when I realized that the front of my shirt was also peppered with dark splatters of viscous liquid.
“Oh man. I bet that’s gonna stain,” I grumbled, swiping at the marks on my shirt, succeeding only in smearing it further. “Ugh, and it stinks like a vampire’s asshole in here.”
I was blabbering, and we all knew it. But it was that or run from the building screaming and tearing out my hair. On one hand, I was impressed that Cordova had dealt with the problem of his traitorous lieutenant so efficiently, but on the other, I’d hadn’t expected to bear witness to it.
Cordova continued to move with the same businesslike air of detachment he’d possessed while executing Chuckles as he stepped around his desk and picked up the phone, oblivious to the dark streaks of blood covering his clothes and face. After issuing a series of instructions given in clipped Russian, he slipped away into the adjoining bathroom.
I was relieved to see he’d cleaned the blood from his face when he returned, though I didn’t think there was any saving his shirt and slacks. Glancing down at my own clothes again, I lamented the fact I was probably going to have to burn them. I didn’t think even the best detergent in the world could contend with dead vamp juice.
I was ruminating on the increasing frequency of my clothes ending up torn and blood splattered when a shrill scream broke through my thoughts, cutting off with the suddenness of someone flipping a switch. I looked up just in time to see Katarina collapse in the doorway, out cold.
Crap. No chance of coffee now.
“Is she okay?” I asked, glancing at Katarina where she lay sprawled in the doorway.
“She’ll be fine,” Chrismer said in a bored tone, barely glancing up from her phone when the silent cleanup crew arrived, toting buckets and cleaning supplies and stepping over the unconscious receptionist.
“Shouldn’t we move her or something?”
Breaking her concentration long enough to cast a critical look at me, she said, “Knock yourself out.”
One of the vamps sent to clean up the mess chose that moment to lift Chuckles’ head from the floor. His bulging white eyes stared out at me, full of reproach as if he was telling me that his death was my fault. Rationality told me that his demise was no one’s fault but his own, yet guilt still pricked at me.
“Ah, I’m good,” I said, swallowing the lump of bile that rose in the back of my throat while Chuckles’ head was stuffed unceremoniously into a black garbage bag.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
MY HANDS WERE still shaking and slick with sweat when I rang the bell at Hank’s house as the morning sunlight gilded the edges of the trees in the yard. I wasn’t in the mood to see the sexy-as-hell pack master—or relive the embarrassment from our shared kiss—but I couldn’t face solitude just now, or, worse yet, the questions I was sure to get from Alyssa. At first it didn’t look like anyone was home, but as I turned to stomp back to my car I caught the sound of movement inside the house. A moment later the door swung open to reveal Juliet decked out in grey yoga pants and a loose fitting yellow and white striped tank top. Her long blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun, several wisps hanging down to frame her elfin face.
“Hey, I know it’s early. I’m sorry, I just—” I started to say only to have my words cut off by Juliet’s panicked cry.
“Holy crap. Are you okay?” she asked, blue eyes wide and full of alarm.
The questioning furrow in my brow faded as I followed the direction of her gaze to the front of my shirt, still streaked with Chuckles’ blood. I’d been so eager to get away from Asylum and its terrifying owner that I hadn’t paused to clean up.
“I’m fine. It’s not mine.”
“Who...” she started to ask, falling quiet at the haunted expression on my face. Appearing to sense that I was in no condition to recite the events of the evening, she offered me a welcoming smile and stepped back from the door. “Come in.”
Unable to find my voice, I nodded and stepped into the house, immediately soothed by the warmth and spicy scent of were. Closing the door behind me, I followed Juliet into the cozy kitchen, which still held the fragrance of the freshly baked bread cooling on a wire rack beside the stove. My mouth watered at the delicious smell, but my stomach rolled uneasily as images of thick black blood flashed in my mind. Afraid that I might puke, I looked away from the bread, turning my gaze to the small table that had been covered in Hank’s work papers the last time I was here.
At some point in the past couple of days, someone had tidied up, dividing the papers into neat stacks to clear some space on the tabletop. A Blossom Market tote sat on the uncluttered half of the table next to a sport bottle leaking condensation, and I felt my stomach flip again at the reminder of Chuckles’ method for selecting his victims.
Feeling as though the room had grown too small and hot, I fought against the nausea that churned in my stomach. Grasping at the significance of the bag and bottle, I said, “Crap, I’m sorry. Were you going somewhere?”
I’d already turned to head back to the front door when Juliet laid a hand on my arm, the brief contact almost enough to break the tenuous grasp I had on my emotions. “It’s okay. I was just heading over to the park to exercise.”
“This early?” I asked, glancing at the clock on the stove that told me it was just after seven a.m.
“Of course. Other than by moonlight, the light of the new day is the best time to do Tai Chi.”
For some reason her words conjured up the recollection of the night I had run with the pack and the image of her standing naked, bathed in cool moonlight.
Heat flooded my cheeks when the images in my mind shifted from Juliet to her brother, and the equally fine figure he had cut standing in the wilderness with not a stitch of clothing between him and the air. Shaking off my thoughts of Hank’s naked body, and all the wonderful things I could do to it, I turned my focus back to Juliet who was regarding me as if I was a particularly challenging jigsaw puzzle.
Cocking her head to one side, as if puzzling over something elusive, she said, “Your Chi is way off.”
I wasn’t sure if I should be insulted or worried, by her words, and in the end settled for asking, “My what?”
“Your Chi. Your life force. It’s the energy that flows through all of us.”
She’s crazier than a sack of rabid raccoons.
“Umm...” I hummed, hoping my expression didn’t telegraph my thoughts.
“I haven’t lost my mind,” she said with a smile. “No more than usual, anyway.”
Despite the sick feeling lingering in the pit of my stomach, I chuckled at her words and found myself grateful that she had been the one to answer the door rather than her brother. If Hank had answered, sleepy-eyed and dressed in his pajamas, I’m not sure I would have been able to stop myself from doing something I would greatly regret when I came back to my senses.
“Why don’t you come with me?” Juliet asked, her bright voice dispelling sinful images of her brother.
“What? Where?”
“To the park. I could show you some Tai Chi moves, help realign your center.”
Shifting my weight from one foot to the other I tried to think of a polite way to decline. “I don’t know...”
“I’m not trying to convert you or anything. I won’t expect you to switch to soy or give up cheeseburgers. But I think it will help. If nothing else, working up a sweat might help relieve some of your stress.”
I wasn’t sure how old lady exercises were supposed to make me sweat, but I felt my resolve weakening nonetheless. “I’m a mess,” I said, gesturing to my gore splattered clothes in a last ditch effort to worm my way out of agreeing.
Not even batting an eyelash at the stains covering my t-shirt and jeans she said, “No problem. I’m sure I’ve got something upstairs you can borrow.”
Unable to see any way out of the situation that didn’t involve hurting her feelings,
I shrugged and said, “What the hell. Why not?”
“Great!” Clutching my hand with far more strength than I would have expected from the petite blonde, she pulled me up the stairs and along the hallway to her room.
I couldn’t help glimpsing what I assumed was Hank’s bedroom as she towed me past the open door. I got an impression of rich reds and oranges and dark woods along with a whiff of tangy musk. It was an alluring aroma, but I felt inordinately relieved when I realized that it paled in comparison to the sumptuous sugary notes of Holbrook. That was a scent I could happily drown in.
Ever the opposite of her brother, my first thought when entering Juliet’s room was “Wow. That’s a lot of pastels.”
A grown-up version of the princess room I had longed for as a kid, it was filled with white-washed furniture and an abundance of pale lavender, cream, and peach textiles. Judging from the various knick-knacks and framed pictures throughout the room, I got the impression that Juliet had a thing for owls. She even had a stuffed owl nestled among the embroidered and ruched pillows on her bed. It was a complete departure from my own bedroom, which was a culmination of thrift store finds, pieces inherited from my grandparents, and even a few relics leftover from my childhood. I had fantasies of one day having an adult bedroom, complete with matching furniture and coordinated linens that hadn’t been picked out of the bargain bin at Walmart.
Let’s be honest here, most days you can barely match your socks, let alone your bedding.
Dismissing my self-deprecating thoughts, I said, “I didn’t realize you lived here too.”
Looking up from where she was digging through a chest of drawers, she replied, “Oh, yeah. I was still living here with our mom and dad while going to school. When Hank took over the pack, he said I could stay.” Pausing with a pair of black yoga pants in her hands her expression turned sad. “I think he was a little afraid of living here alone to be honest. Too many memories.”