by Noelle Ryan
Seeing no-one, but hearing branches whipping back nearby, I sprung back into motion, not bothering to breathe until I was sure I was far enough away not to be overwhelmed by the garlic. I scented the air tentatively, concerned that I might have gotten disoriented in the fall, but the gasoline smell was stronger and coming from directly in front of me. Moments later I saw the faint gleam of chrome, and I darted over to the driver’s side of Damian’s gorgeous automobile, never happier to see a car in my whole life.
I’d just swung the door open when a twig snapped beside me, and I dropped into the seat while aiming over my shoulder, liberally hosing down the nearby trees until the soft thump of knees hitting the ground and the sound of gagging reassured me I could stop long enough to grab the keys.
Hallelujah for German engineering, I rejoiced when the car turned over immediately. I whipped back out of the overhanging branches, turning as I went so the car would be facing the road. Dropping it back into drive, I turned around—and found myself face to face with the ugliest person—vampire or otherwise—I’d ever seen.
If the vampire of fantasies looked like Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise, then what blocked my path was definitely the prototype for nightmares. He was massive, looking like the Incredible Hulk’s stunt double minus the green, completely bald, and had deep gouging scars criss-crossing his face that made me flinch just seeing them. His nose was more a malformed lump than olfactory organ, and his mouth was displaying a grotesque open-mouthed grin that showcased two curling long fangs and few other teeth beside them. He crouched, and I froze for only a second before another instinct kicked in, punching my foot to the gas. The car rolled over him with a sickening series of thuds and then fishtailed onto the road, spewing gravel.
I glanced in the rearview mirror as I sped away, horrified to see the first vamp I’d sprayed crouching beside the monster I’d just run over, scooping an arm under him and helping him up. As I watched, the giant reached one hand over and popped the arm that had been sticking out at a sickening angle back into place, then put both hands on his chin and twisted until his head once again sat square on his shoulders. As he did this, the first vamp was tying his own jacket around the monster’s leg, as another vamp pulled the Jeep out from the branches.
Crap, they’d jumped Tom’s car already?
I floored it, not eager to see the second vehicle join me on the road. Damian had told me to head towards people, but I realized, streaking through a stop sign and hoping my luck held, that since I’d been buried in the back seat as we came in I had no idea in which direction Nashville proper lay. I fumbled around on the dash, striking buttons at random, hoping a car this expensive would come equipped with a handy navigation system that might tell me where to go.
After a few minutes of scrambling, a screen flashed on, and I touched an onscreen button to accept whatever asinine legal warning they required me to agree to before I could use their service.
“Destination, please,” said a pleasant female voice with a hint of British accent.
What should I tell the thing? I couldn’t just say “take me to a lot of people!” I’d never spent any time in Nashville, so I had no idea where its hot spots were, and what would be crowded at—I glanced at the dash—eleven o’clock on a Friday night. Then, as I barreled through another intersection, I had a vague recollection of a colleague at a conference telling me to check out the Tin Roof if I was ever in Nashville and looking for good live music.
“Uh, can you please direct me to the Tin Roof in Nashville, Tennessee?” I asked, feeling vaguely idiotic for being polite to a computer. Maybe it was an instinctual American reaction to hearing a British accent.
“Searching,” the computer replied. “Ten Red Roof Inns have been found in the vicinity of Nashville, Tennessee. Please specify.”
“Crap,” I muttered. Where was some truly idiot-proof technology when I could really use it?
“Was that Red Roof Inn, Rappel Boulevard?” The computer asked politely. “Calculating”
“No,” I yelped. “Um, Stop. Disengage. Cancel!” I continued shouting whatever random synonym popped in my head as I tapped at buttons on the screen. Eventually, the screen went blank, and then restarted on its home menu. Trying to keep one eye on the road, one on my rearview mirror, and one on the navigation system—and wishing vampirism had somehow granted me a more literal third eye—I eventually managed to type in Tin Roof, Nashville.
“One moment please,” the computer said, and I risked a fuller glance behind me. A ways back—I couldn’t tell how far, never having needed to know how to estimate distances as part of my previously unadventurous life—I could faintly make out the shape of Tom’s Jeep. I edged my speed up, hoping to put some distance between us while we were still on a relatively deserted road.
“The Tin Roof, at one five one six Demonbruen Road, is eighteen point two miles away.” Wow, Cesar’s place must really be out in the suburbs. “Displaying map.” I glanced at it, noticing I appeared to be in some place called Franklin, and that I’d be getting onto I-65 shortly. Wonderful.
“In point two miles, turn right onto Cool Springs Boulevard.”
I slowed down slightly, relieved to notice I could no longer see the Jeep behind me—maybe I’d get lucky, and lose them. Surely Damian and everyone had finished things at Cesar’s house by now? Though, crap, it would be hard for them to get to me without Tom’s Jeep. I’d have to hope they could steal a car as easily as Cesar’s goons had.
Once I’d made my turn, the computer informed me I had one-point-eight miles until I should merge with I-65, going north. Once I was on the interstate I was briefly tempted to just keep driving—past Nashville, past Louisville, maybe straight up to Canada to get lost amongst the cold weather and mild manners. The realization that I had no way of changing my identity, however, or getting a job even if I could find a way to change my identity, stopped me.
I glanced back in my rearview as often as I safely could, seeing no sign of any Jeep behind me. Then, just a few miles before my exit, I thought I caught a glimpse of its distinctive silhouette. I leaned closer to the rearview mirror, as if those inches could somehow make a difference, and almost plowed into the semi that decided to take that moment to merge into my lane. Slamming on the brakes and my horn simultaneously, I slid onto the shoulder, half expecting the British voice that had been directing me to pitch in a few pointers about how not to crash into a concrete median. The truck driver realized what was going on and slowed down, and I skated past and back in front of him, passing a few startled cars in the right lane before finding the room to move over just before the exit onto Demonbruen Street.
While waiting for the light at the base of the ramp to change, I kept my eyes on the mirror. Cops or not, I would shoot through that light if I saw a Jeep pull down the ramp. Fortunately, only a few tired sedans lined up behind me. Still, I didn’t want to take any chances at getting caught alone with those guys again. Maybe their original plan had been to simply trap me, but I was afraid that the amount of damage I’d done to the huge one might have pushed him over the same edge the vamp who’d drained me had crossed. I sure as hell wasn’t going to count on Cesar’s control to keep me safe.
The Tin Roof wasn’t far from the interstate, easy to spot between the loud music filtering onto the street and the crowd gathered outside it’s front door. I found a parking spot only half a block away and grabbed it. Once the car was off fatigue hit me, and I leaned my arms and head against the steering wheel.
Eleven
The sound of squealing tires jerked me alert again a second later and I looked up, but even seeing it was just the sound of some drunken idiots and not the approach of Tom’s Jeep didn’t relax me. I’d been heads down, eyes shut in an unprotected vehicle when I was still very much in danger; what was I thinking? I fished around the back of the car for my purse and dug out the pair of earplugs I always carried with me—my hearing had been sensitive even before being turned, and I was dreading what that loud music would do to m
e now—and wedged them firmly into my ears. Then I pulled out my cell phone, sending a quick text to Tom to let him know where I was and what had happened, and dropped it back into my purse.
I hopped out, trying to dust the evidence of my run through the forest off my clothing, wincing at the torn jeans and T-shirt that was definitely not going-out wear. I’d just have to hope the Tin Roof didn’t have a dress code, or that I could charm my way in if it did. I was glad to see it wasn’t one of those wait-in-line-for-a-bouncer-to-decide-if-you’re-hip-enough clubs; I wasn’t sure if any amount of vampiric charm would get me into a place like that dressed like this. Besides, I hated that kind of club.
It only took some slight encouragement (of the ten dollar bill variety, not the willed into submission kind—I was happy to do things the old-fashioned way) to get me inside, where I was greeted by a blast of music and a writhing mass of happy, dancing bodies. I worked my way to the bar, trying to clamp down on the urge to nibble at the nearest neck that the smell of sweat and excitement was stirring up in me. Absurdly, snippets from Looney Toons popped into my head—except instead of my mind turning the people in front of me into giant cartoon drumsticks, they seemed more like a tall glass of lemonade might to someone who’d been crawling around in a desert for an afternoon. It was controllable, but very, very tempting. Hoping it would help keep my mind off my less than friendly urges, I snagged the bartender’s attention and ordered a bourbon on ice. I had no idea if I could still enjoy the drink or not, but it had been a favorite in life so I figured it was worth a try. I positioned myself at the back corner of the bar, where I could get a clear view of the front door while still having plenty of bodies to distract my pursuers should they come in.
The bourbon arrived a few moments later, and I took a tentative sip. I was pleased to discover it could still generate that pleasant burn as I swallowed. I didn’t know if I could still get drunk, but as long as it took the edge off the temptations surrounding me, I didn’t care. I closed my eyes to savor the warmth seeping down my throat and into my stomach.
I startled, spilling a drop or two, when my shoulders iced over and my phone buzzed against my leg simultaneously. I yanked it out to find a text message from Tom.
Bound him and men, but Cesar escaped. Don’t know how. We’re headed to you. Stay safe.
As I was folding my phone, hoping that sensation in my shoulders was just a reaction to the incoming message, I felt a leg brush against mine. I looked up to see a man who reeked of tequila leaning back against the bar next to me, leering. Or maybe it was a warning I’m about to get hit on by a scuzzball, I thought wryly.
“Hey sweetness, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Whaddya say, comback to my place?” he slurred.
I revised my initial assessment to include not only the reek of tequila, but also clichés and delusional levels of arrogance. He was leaning so far into my personal space I expected him to topple onto my lap—in fact, I was kind of hoping he would so I’d have the excuse to drop him onto the nasty floor beneath and burn off some of my agitation. He maintained his precarious balance, though, dropping his face right in front of me and staring me in the eyes. The stench of poorly-digesting alcohol was stronger than I could stand, and I placed my hand against his chest and pushed him back towards the bar. I'd forgotten I was no longer just an academic who spent more time with books than weights, though, so he ended up half-sprawled across the counter-top, staring at me through one bleary eye in surprise.
“You coulda just said no,” he muttered, steadying himself back into a standing position.
“This man bothering you miss?” a voice behind me said, and I turned to tell my would be white knight that I wasn’t in need of his assistance—and then froze with my mouth open as I realized he was a vampire. Taking advantage of my shock, he gripped my arm tightly and bent close, smiling at the bartender who was casting a worried look our way.
“Either you can watch me escort your friendly companion here out in the name of protecting you,” he whispered, still smiling, “and know that I’ll kill him the second we get outside, or you can come along with me and no-one has to die. Smile nicely for the bartender while you’re thinking, or else he’ll be in for a rather nasty evening as well.”
Smiling woodenly, I spun options around in my head. As frightened as I was, I didn’t think I could let some drunken jerk die because of me. Assuming this was the fourth vampire that had been chasing me, the one I hadn't hit with garlic or car, I should be safe—well, relatively. But if I left with him, Tom and the others wouldn’t know where to find me.
“Tick tock, tick tock,” he said, sounding eerily like Hannibal Lecter and making it very hard for me to keep a lid on my fear.
“Who are you? How do I know you won’t just kill me too?” I asked, playing for time. God I hoped Tom had a lead foot.
“Oh, look at me forgetting my manners. I’m Theo,” he said, sticking his hand out and smirking when I refused to touch it. “And I’m sure you’ve realized by now that Cesar wants you just as you are; he’d be very disappointed if I ruined his fun, and he’s a dangerous man to disappoint. Now come on, no more stalling. Are you coming, or am I taking the drunken Romeo out for a light snack?” He gestured to my would-be suitor, who seemed to have actually passed out while leaning upright against the bar, defying all laws of gravity or common sense.
“What did you do to him?” I hissed.
“That sounds an awful lot like concern, Alyson dear. Does that mean you’d rather not see him dead?” He tugged me to my feet.
“Let go of me right now or I’m going to scream,” I snapped, and he dropped my arm at once—instead slumping “Romeo” over his shoulder and making his way to the back.
“My buddy here has had a bit too much to drink,” he said to any bar patrons that glanced his way. “Excuse me while I help him out back.”
I glanced around, frantic. Any good Samaritan I might grab would end up dead, and by the time the cops arrived Cesar’s man would be long gone and I’d be stuck trying to explain a dead body. I looked back, noticing they were almost to a back door. I had to follow them. I grabbed my phone, punching in Tom’s number as I made my way through the crowd. As soon as I heard the click of him answering I began talking, praying he’d be able to distinguish my words from the background noise.
“Cesar’s men followed me. They’ve dragged someone behind the club. I can’t let them kill him. I’m going out there. Please hurry,” I said, stuffing the phone in my pocket and ignoring the “Aly, don’t—” I heard on its way down.
Matching the laws of scary movies everywhere, the back door opened into a poorly lit and deserted alley. Well, deserted except for the four hungry vampires who looked up at me as I stepped out. My throat tightened involuntarily when my eyes landed on the one I’d run over. Crap. Why was I doing this again?
Theo stuck his hand out, and the one I’d first sprayed in the woods begrudgingly slapped something into his palm. “See Don,” Theo crooned, his tone mocking, “I told you: she’s less than a week old and dumb enough to still sympathize with dinner.” He nudged something with his foot, and I looked down in horror when I realized it was the drunk from the bar.
“You…I came out, you weren’t supposed to kill him!”
“Oh he’s not dead.” Theo laughed nastily. “He might wish he was, but he isn’t.” As if proving his point, the lump at his feet groaned in pain.
My face must have betrayed my nausea, because Don began laughing.
“Aww, are you gonna get sick now sweetheart?” he mocked.
”Go take a flying leap,” I said, straightening, determined not to let them frighten me into submission in case Cesar was close enough to take advantage of it.
“Ooh, I like the feisty ones. I hope Cesar keeps you around for a little while,” Theo said, and skated across the ground to grab my arm, squeezing tight.
“Let go,” I yelled, twisting. I felt Theo hit the brick wall beside us with a satisfying thunk, but his grip never loosened a
nd then two more hands grabbed my other arm. I flailed my legs up wildly, searching for enough leverage or inertia to yank free. I managed to land a kick on someone’s knee—I felt the joint bend backward, and heard a brief gasp of pain—before both my legs were grabbed as well, leaving me swinging and screeching in the air as they carried me towards Tom’s Jeep.
“It’s like trying to carry a wild cat. Watch you don’t get rabies,” one of them said, delivering an especially strong pinch to my leg as I tried to kick him.
Theo switched his hold on my arm so he could grab me by the hair and force me to look at him. “Cesar told us not to do any damage that would take more than few hours to heal unless absolutely necessary. You’re pushing us awfully close to 'absolutely necessary,' sweetheart.”
The thought that it had only taken me a few hours to recover from a snapped spine on the day of my attack gave me pause, as I wondered what kind of damage they could do that would be worse than that. My body slumped for a moment, almost dragging across the filthy concrete. And then the arm Theo had been holding suddenly fell free. I looked over and jerked, seeing his face inches from mine, his cheek resting in a puddle and an oddly shaped dart sticking out of his neck. Then I was dropped, undignified, into the puddle with him as the other vamps released me and spun to the mouth of the alley. I sat up, seeing nothing, but the warmth flooding my shoulders told me Damian must be nearby. Reinvigorated, I dug in my pocket for the forgotten garlic spray. Once it was out, I lurched to my feet, spraying the remaining vampires until the tube ran dry. They dropped to their knees, gagging and coughing, their skin turning an ugly shade of purple where the spray had hit them. I backpedaled towards the club, trying to escape the stench. Then more darts found each of their necks. Once they collapsed, so did I, arms wrapped around my knees as I sat on cold concrete steps that lead up to the club door, afraid to look away.