by J. N. Colon
A knot fisted in my throat thinking how tragically her life ended. What if she had a boyfriend or even a mate who she was ripped away from?
I swallowed hard and flipped through the pages to find Robert Cain’s picture. I stared at his russet hair that shone in the sunlight behind him and warm, hazel eyes thinking he was probably a really nice person who didn’t deserve what the hunters did to him. They stole his life and there was nothing anyone could do to bring him back.
My fingers brought the photo closer, staring at short gold necklace, seeing a tiny key charm that hung in the hollow of his throat.
I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. Maybe he had a mate, a wife, who gave him that necklace—the key to her heart. If I read the details in the file I could probably find out.
Instead I flipped through the pages and landed on a new victim, one that I hadn’t seen before. No silver ring was present in the deep blue eyes the color of the sea at night staring back at me from his picture. Defined cheekbones any model would be proud of were highlighted by messy blonde hair and pouty lips atop a pointed chin.
My gaze landed below and found his name, Bronson Styles. He probably had a girlfriend—or probably many with those good looks.
My chest ached with a crushing guilt that pushed my ribs into my heart. Unfortunately he wouldn’t have any more girlfriends, or dates, or happy memories. He died last night backstage at a concert.
His image turned watery from unshed tears when I saw the time and date stamp on the bottom. The picture had just been taken last night right before the concert. He was giving a grin and a thumb’s up, displaying a tattoo of Celtic Knots on the back of his right hand.
I dropped the file back on Whitmore desk, the photo staring back in accusation of something horrific. Suddenly Bronson’s happy blue eyes clouded black until nothing but two pits of tar glared at me. His skin disintegrated to reveal a decaying skull beneath.
A gasp tumbled out my mouth and I wiped my eyes, thinking it was a trick of the light and my tears.
No such luck. Bronson’s skeletal face still glowered at me, hate and blame radiating from his black eyes.
My heart pounded in my chest and shook my nerves. This was not happening. I blinked several times without any success of bringing the normal photo back. Crimson blood suddenly seeped out the file, spilling onto Whitmore’s pristine mahogany desk.
With a deep, rattling breath I slammed the manila folder closed, expecting splats of blood to go everywhere.
Nothing.
There was no blood.
I groaned and rubbed my temples, glad Demy wasn’t here to see this freak out. He saw me nearly hyperventilate from imaginary bugs and blood earlier. I didn’t need to give him another reason to watch my every move.
***
My head rested on Mac’s chest as his arms wrapped around me, his fingers twirling my rings around. “You really like it?” he asked, his voice a soft murmur in my ear.
“Of course,” I said, touching the sparkling diamond. “I wouldn’t want anything else. And I can’t wait to marry you.”
He nuzzled my neck. “Me neither baby.”
The humidity of the jungle wrapped around us while the waxy leaves cocooned us in privacy. I could smell the sweet scent of flowers mixed with the mouthwatering smell of the food Mac had stashed under the brush, but nothing—not even steak—could pull me from his embrace at the moment.
Distant waves crashed along the shore, lulling me into deep relaxation as was Mac’s fingers tracing circles on my arms.
“Baby?” Mac’s lips tickled the sensitive skin beneath my ear, spawning shivers over my languid body
“Hmm?”
“You smell so good.” His teeth nibbled at my neck.
His hold on me tightened until something painful sliced my arm. I winced and glanced down to see Mac’s fingers had morphed into sharp claws that were digging into my flesh and spilling crimson blood.
“Ouch Mac!” I hissed and swiveled around to look into his face. “What are you doing…?” My words trailed off as I stared at the horrifying sight before me, the breath being sucked harshly from my lungs while a glacier of fear was trying to invade my veins. Mac’s eyes were no longer jade or silver, but a terrifying shade of deep crimson.
A scream tore out my mouth as I scrambled away from him backwards on my hands. His flesh was a sickly shade of ashen gray and dirt clotted his hair and smudged his face. The stench of death choked the air and gagged me, violently churning my stomach. I blinked in disbelief as I stared at one of the undead vampires—who was Mac.
NO! This was not happening. He was not one of those creatures.
As if he could hear my thoughts his lips curled back, revealing reddened teeth that dribbled blood down his chin, proving he was exactly what I feared. A deep, vicious snarl pealed out his mouth as he lunged for me.
With a yelp I twisted out his reach and took off, sprinting out the thick island foliage. My heart jackhammered my ribs, threatening to pulverize each and every one of them. Cold sweat beaded my skin and humidity clung to me, suffocating and oppressive. I could hear him behind me, smashing loudly through the plants and creating a path of destruction.
Finally my feet reached soft sand, my heels digging in with each step. My breath came in quick, ragged pants as I ran down the beach in search of help. But what would that help do to Mac?
Moments later I felt long fingers tangle in my hair and a heavy body tackled me to the ground, sand flying up around us. Mac whirled me over, pinning me with his heavy weight and growling from between his blood stained teeth.
“Mac, please!” My heart wrenched and insides tore apart in sharp, blinding agony. No recognition existed behind those sinister crimson eyes. Only hunger and malice remained.
My Mac was gone.
My body went limp and I quit struggling, staring into the face of a monster. I closed my eyes and turned my head, giving him access to my neck. I held back a scream as his fangs viciously tore into me, ripping apart not only my flesh, but my soul.
I gasped awake, thrashing in bed, arms and sheets tangled around me. I struggled and fought against my assailant, my heart slamming violently into my ribcage.
“Rubi stop!” A familiar voice thickened by a Russian accent hit my ears. “It’s me, Demy.”
My body relaxed, my chest heaving and limbs trembling with residual terror. Sweat coated my hairline and spread sticky, uncomfortable heat across my skin. Salty tears soaked my cheeks and the pillow beneath me. Images of the nightmare flickered behind my eyes, driving knives through my body with every agonizing breath.
“Rubi.” Demy shook me to get my attention. “It’s okay.” He yanked the twisted covers from between us so he could hold me. “I’m here. It’s okay baby.”
Anger struck me and I shoved him back, his eyes wide with shock. “Don’t call me that!” I hissed. In all my life no one except Mac had ever called me baby. It made the pain of losing him even worse—that someone thought they had the right to call me that. “Mac called me that.” My voice was hissed whisper, dripping with venom.
Demy’s palms lifted. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry Rubi.”
A lump clogged my throat, producing a sudden sob and trembling lips soon followed. I hadn’t meant to snap at him. In the back of my mind I knew he didn’t mean any harm. Demy would never purposefully hurt me.
He just couldn’t call me that.
He slowly opened his arms for me, motioning me to him. “Come here princess.” He cautiously reached for me as if I were a skittish animal. “Come on.”
I finally let him pull me into his embrace, laying my head on his warm bare chest. His arms enfolded me, curling around me protectively. I breathed in his earthly amber and fire scent, letting it calm my nerves.
“It was only a nightmare Rubi,” he whispered, gently brushing my snarled hair from my face. “Tell me about it.”
I took a deep, shuddering breath and relayed my horrifying night terror to him in as much detail as I could mu
ster. Afterwards Demy wiped the fresh tears from my cheeks, kissing each one.
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that Rubi.”
“What if it’s real?” I asked, a deep seeded fear had spread through me the moment I woke up. “What if Mac is one of those creatures, wondering around somewhere?”
Demy’s arms tightened. “He’s not. That poison killed him like it did Hudson.”
My fingers splayed on his chest. “But Mac is strong. What if it wasn’t enough for him and it turned him into one of those undead creatures? A-And that’s why I can’t find his spirit.”
A sigh drifted out his mouth and his other hand began stroking my arm in an effort to calm me. “That’s not what happened. Mac is still in his grave and his spirit is out there and you’ll find him one day.”
The thought of an undead Mac killing people, cruelly tearing their hearts out with deadly claws and eating them, sent terror through my insides and acid up my throat. It was just a dream, I told myself. Mac wasn’t a creature of nightmares. He was simply dead and his spirit was out there somewhere.
Demy pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead while his hand slowly stroked my arm, warming me. “Get some sleep princess. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
I snuggled into him and closed my eyes, thinking of a time when it was Mac who lulled me back to sleep after my nightmares.
***
The late afternoon autumn sun hung low in the sky, partially obscured by gray clouds. The air was scented by apple cinnamon and once fragrant flowers slowly decaying. Demy had been here for a week. It was hard denying I needed him anymore. Because clearly I did. He had his own room, but he usually stayed with me and I clung to him night after night through all my nightmares.
He also let me fed off him, which always made me feel a mixture of pleasure and guilt. Pleasure because it was blood and Demy. Guilt because it was Demy and it was never just blood with him.
I bit my lip, staunching the images and sensations that wanted to bombard my mind. This was not the time to dwell on my shameful feelings.
My eyes lingered on the immaculate, shining headstone before me, reading the words a few times.
McCollum Cambridge Davenport
Loving son, friend, and husband
The ground beneath it was completely undisturbed, plush green grass lying flat like a carpet. I kneeled down then leaned against the headstone. The granite was cool through my hoodie. I clutched a book against my chest, my fingers tracing the leather absentmindedly.
After the nightmare I had visited Mac’s grave every day just to check that his body was still resting in it like Demy assured me. He was right where I left him each time, his final resting place undisturbed.
I was grateful he was buried in Salem so close to me.
“Hi baby,” I whispered, not caring that Rufus and Daedalus could probably here me wherever they were in the distance. “I brought your favorite book.” I held out To Kill A Mockingbird as if he could see it.
I opened it to the place I had marked and began reading out loud. Reading old classics weren’t really my thing, but Mac loved American literature so for him I would do it. Part of me was hoping it might draw his spirit out. No such luck yet.
After a few chapters I put the book down and sighed, closing my eyes and recalling an image of him leaned over a book, his midnight hair wild around his rapt expression and jade eyes burning into each word on the page.
“I miss you so much Mac,” I said into the wind. “I’m not sure I can do this without you.” Tears prickled my eyes and I took several breaths to suck them back in. “Why haven’t you come to me?” Even I was embarrassed at the aching desperation in my tone.
The sound of leaves dancing through the air echoed, a few skittering across my lap. My lids closed and pretended it was Mac tickling me, his mouth curled into that mischievous crooked smile.
Something wet pooled on my shoulder. My eyes opened, looking up into the gray clouds expecting to see rain. My brow knit as I glanced over my shoulder and saw the cause for the moisture. Deep crimson blood was pouring down Mac’s headstone, soaking into my shirt and tangling in my hair.
With a gasp I pulled myself off, staring wide-eyed at the horror. It was as if the stone itself was bleeding from a death wound. Where the hell was it coming from?
A vicious, hair-raising snarl sounded and I turned to see a hellish figure crawling on all fours toward me. Blood and yellow foam seeped from her mouth, dripping onto the ground and sizzling as if it were acid. Or poison.
A yelp tumbled out my mouth and I backed up, hitting the blood soaked grave. I jerked away, crawling on my own hands backwards away from the creatures. Cold panic sank into my bloodstream while sweat coated my skin. My breathing came in quick, ragged pants, threatening to choke me at any moment.
Tangles of raven hair framed an ashen face, hanging to obscure it. Hands were like claws, digging up the pristine grass.
“G-Go away,” I whispered my voice quivering in fear. “Y-You’re dead. You don’t belong…”
A deep, mocking laugh slithered out her mouth. “I don’t belong…?” she drawled out, more acidic substance dripping from her open maw, eating away the ground. “It’s because of you princessss…”
The phantom came closer, her spine twisted and cracking like branches snapping in a cold winter storm. She was a thing of nightmares and horror movies, vile and morbid to scare the intended victim.
I was the star of the movie and it was my nightmare she was haunting.
I whimpered and crawled away until rotten, corpse hands burst forth from the ground beneath me, holding me in place. I screamed in shock and struggled uselessly against their iron grasp. Their decaying flesh was ripping away as I fought, revealing cold hard bone beneath.
The monster girl twitched closer, her dripping acid singing my jeans. “Scared of a little venom?” Her face was inches from mine, her putrid breath gagging me. A lock of wet black hair caught on my knee, sliding away from her face a few inches to reveal a freckle beneath her eyebrow. “You did this…”
I slammed my eyes shut as burning acid dropped on my shirt, eating a hole through it.
“Rubi!” Daedalus’ voice snapped me out of my terror, his thick, collapsed hand shaking me. “What’s wrong?”
My lids snapped open to see only my royal guard. No creepy girl ghost. Mac’s headstone was free of blood and the ground was manicured and pristine.
I took a big, gulping air and tried unsuccessfully to calm my pounding heart. “I’m f-fine.” My voice shook.
Daedalus’ brows drew together in disbelief. “You don’t look fine.”
I shook his hand off and sat up straight. “It was just a ghost,” I lied. That thing wasn’t some simple ghostly visit. It had been like the one I saw at the shop the other day, gross and horrifying.
The wind blew his chin length brown hair around his face, his thick finger reaching up and tucking it behind an ear. “A ghost?” The lock of hair fell into his face again.
I nodded. “It just scared me for a second.”
A mixture of concern and anxiety shimmered in Daedalus’ dark eyes, not quite believing my story. Or maybe he was beginning to think I was nuts.
Was I nuts? Not only was I seeing horrifying ghosts that amp my fear up from 0 to 60 in a nanosecond, but I’m seeing blood and bugs along with it. That wasn’t normal.
And why was there something familiar about them?
Chapter 9
“I’m so glad you decided to have lunch with me Rubi.” Emmaline sat across from me in a dimly lit restaurant, her sleek blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, brushing her pale, slender shoulders. The muted sun streaming in through the windows off the street gave her flawless alabaster skin an iridescent glow and made her azure eyes sparkle.
I glanced down at my own skin, grimacing at the odd shade of what could only be described as dull, faded tan. Just blah. I was a vampire too so why didn’t I ever look all glowy and goddess like?
The eate
ry was a small, elegant place in the center of Salem. Fragrant, delectable aromas of food filtered through the air mixed with expensive perfume from patrons. Gentle classical music played in the background and pings of silverware against porcelain echoed. Pristine white linens covered the tables with strategically placed dinnerware.
I had no idea what Emmaline was thinking bringing me to a place like this. She was lucky I didn’t have much of an appetite these days otherwise I’d end up using the tablecloth as a bib.
“I haven’t seen you in so long.” A gentle, sympathetic smile split her lips.
Emmaline had been in Salem for months, working in secret at Highland to formulate a cure or vaccine for the deadly poison the hunters had. She called every week to get together and every week I’d have some excuse. It took her a moment to let my words sink in when I finally accepted her offer this time. She was already sighing in defeat before I repeated myself. Her uncharacteristic squeal of glee had my ears ringing. I was trying to make an effort for the Davenports.
“Me too,” I answered, absentmindedly playing with the steak on my plate. Hey, I said I was trying. You can’t cure meat overnight.
Emmaline’s acute gaze scrutinized my movements, noticing my lack of eating so I popped a huge, Rubi-sized bite in my mouth. Unfortunately it still tasted a little like sawdust. Mmm. Yummy wood particles.
She took a dainty bite of her mushroom chicken. “What have you been up to recently?”
“Oh just working.”
She nodded. “That’s good. I heard Demy has been staying with you.”
“Yep.”
“That’s good. Really good… that he’s helping you.”
My brow arched curiously. Did she know I was feeding from him and other stuff I wish to not think about because if I did I’d be drowning in thick, murky guilt?
She used her fork to push a shriveled mushroom around on her plate, dragging it absentmindedly through the sauce without looking up. “Have you talked with any of your human friends lately?” She shifted awkwardly, her eyes still glued to her half-eaten food.