Bloodlines (Demons of Oblivion)

by Skyla Dawn Cameron

Glass shattered, a high-pitched tinkling. I leaned forward, glanced out. Midair, Jamie started to correct himself. Only two stories up, the simple fall wouldn’t keep him from following Nate, who I needed to kill now to get my money.

  I didn’t wait for a clear shot; I launched the rod at him. It pierced his lower abdomen and slammed him into the ground, pinning him there, face up. Now that, combined with the bullets in his body, should keep him out of the way.

  If not, I’d take his head off next time.

  My heels crunched over broken glass and the nylon bag of probably-broken goodies on my back thumped against my spine. I wasn’t even going to look at my dress—no way was it in good shape and I just couldn’t face another ruined outfit. I winced as I walked, pressed my palm over the bullet wound in my gut. Shit, it stung.

  I stopped in the hallway. Where would they have taken Nate? Mish didn’t give me any other info—just said he’d be at the party. Of course, she’d also left out the fact that she was married to the guy. If she’d given any other suggestions, I’d have trouble listening to them at this point.

  So let’s pretend he’s still in the house... These guys were rich. They’d have secure rooms, right? The blueprints mentioned one in the basement and that seemed a good place to begin the hunt. I started down the hall, the main staircase as my destination.

  Something rumbled in the corridor ahead of me and a prickle walked up my spine. The floor trembled beneath my feet, pictures on the walls rattled. Slow, heavy steps pounded toward me.

  Not good. So not good.

  Three eight-foot-tall figures appeared at the end of the hallway. Blood-red eyes, six-inch claws, cloven hooves, and faces generally only seen in nightmares and horror movies—a common depiction of a demon simply because they were probably the easiest ones to summon, and therefore most commonly seen by mortals. Ratorth-spawned demons.

  Yeah, so maybe I’d find a different way downstairs.

  Behind them stood the missing guards, guns drawn and pointed at me. So that’s where they went—to get reinforcements. Reinforcements of the demon variety. With an I.Q. not much higher than that of a vegetable, they were fairly easy to control, provided whoever summoned them could give them the right motivation...such as tearing limb from limb an intruder, like myself.

  I knew this was too easy.

  I turned, heels digging into the carpet, and bolted down the hall in the opposite direction of my new playmates. Behind me the demons snarled and stomped after me. Despite their wide, awkward frames, I knew damn well they’d catch up. It had happened once before. I didn’t talk about that story because it made me look bad.

  At the end of the corridor, just outside O’Connor’s bedroom, waited a window with long, heavy curtains on either side. I grabbed one of the panels and dove through the glass.

  It hurts way more than the movies make you think. I went shoulder first and the glass gave, turned my head to protect my lovely blue eyes, tightened my grip on the curtain.

  Cool night air hit me, drying the sheen of sweat on my skin. Glass fell, dancing around me and glinting in the light from the house. As I sailed through the air, I flipped and twisted around so I was going feet first. The curtain rod snapped and the fabric caught on the window frame; it held but jerked my arms, pain shooting through my shoulders. I thrust my heels out, smashed one of the first floor windows, and swung into the lower room.

  I landed in a crouch on the tiled floor. My body was on fire, from the bullet in my gut to the pulled muscles in my shoulders and the nicks from the glass. Super healing is all well and good but it still sucks to get hurt in the first place.

  An indoor pool was before me, along with a few people from the party busy swimming. Or probably making out. They froze when they saw me, and I can’t say I blamed them. Cuts from the glass lined my arms, and blood soaked my stomach. At least I look good in red.

  On the floor above me, the heavy tread of my pursuers continued. The demons gave a low, angry cry.

  Right. Still had to get the fuck out of the house.

  “I got kind of turned around,” I said to the bewildered swimmers. “I don’t suppose either of you can point me toward the garage.”

  One woman stared at me for a moment, and then—hand shaking—gestured to her right.

  “Thanks!” I wasted no time racing in the direction she indicated.

  A side corridor outside of the pool area led to O’Connor’s expansive garage. There was a line of expensive cars, with one empty spot at the front. Something told me it was probably Nate’s and he and his bodyguards were long gone.

  Damn.

  Screams came from the main house. Great, so the goddamn demons were probably on a rampage looking for me. Time to make my escape. Hopefully they’d pause to eat some witchy houseguests.

  A black motorcycle at the back of the garage caught my eye. Easier to hotwire than a car, and a lot harder to hit with a bullet. Perfect.

  After a few minutes and a lot of patience, I had the wires stripped and crossed, and I got a spark. Next up, I just needed a garage remote, which I located hanging on the wall with the selection of car keys. Seconds later I burst outside and tore through the darkness, away from the estate.

  About three miles down the road, I was certain no one followed me, so I slowed a bit to think. I knew should probably head home, get rid of the bullet lodged in my stomach, change, and then come up a plan. You know, smart stuff. Pretty and brilliant—that’s Zara Lain.

  But I didn’t much care for the logical solution. Mishka had some serious s’plaining to do, and before I did anything else, I wanted to know what in the hell was going on.

  Chapter Nine

  Unwelcome

  I brought the bike to a halt below the fire escape at Mishka’s apartment and emptied the bag of stolen items from O’Connor’s house into the saddle bags. I heard a few things crack, but I didn’t care anymore—anything breakable was already broken. I’d just salvage what I could and sell the pieces.

  Two of Mishka’s windows shone with light. Bitch—I mean witch, of course—was awake. I would’ve gone up there regardless; nothing like being chased by a group of demons to put me in a bad mood. But awake meant I could skip the bewildered, “Why did you wake me up by beating my head against a wall, Zara?” questions and get straight to her answering me.

  I leapt onto the second level of steps and snuck up the next two flights, metal stairs rattling under my feet. Mishka waited inside, sitting in the living room. After sending me to kill the guy who was apparently her husband, she was relaxing on the fucking couch—curled up, in fact, and wearing an oversized gray tracksuit, while watching the goddamn television.

  I was far from pleased.

  This time all her windows were shut. At least that was a problem I could easily solve. The healing cuts on my hand sliced open again, fresh blood falling over the dried, cracked stuff as I pulled my arm back and punched through the glass.

  The window pane shattered and Mishka jumped up.

  She took two steps back, voice raised as she eyed me with worry. “Good Goddess, what in Her name are you doing?”

  “I thought I’d permanently solve your air conditioning problem.” I casually hopped over the frame. The broken glass crunched under my feet as I stalked toward her. I stopped three steps from where she stood.

  “How did everything go?” she asked warily. “Are they dead?”

  “Oh yeah, it was totally simple, but I decided to go with my own plan. I just slept with Nate, then killed him and later his father.”

  Her lips twitched as I spoke, tightening as her eyes hardened, but she didn’t say a word.

  “You know, the funniest thing happened, though,” I continued. “While we were in the throes of passion, he said, ‘Oh Zara, oh Zara...wow—Mishka never did that.’ Now who do you suppose he could have been talking about?”

  Colour suffused her cheeks and her fingers clenched into fists as she glared at me. “They aren’t dead.”

  “Oh, your daddy-in-law is
. But it was so weird with Nate—he wasn’t surprised that I brutally murdered his father. In fact, he said he was expecting me.” I feigned laughter. “Wasn’t that just crazy of him?”

  “Why the fucking hell didn’t you just kill him?”

  “I don’t know—why the ‘fucking hell’ didn’t you just tell me he was your goddamn husband!”

  “Because it’s none of your fucking business!”

  My lips pursed, chin dipped as I lowered my voice to something dark and cold. “No, actually, it is my business. I’ve been shot repeatedly, chased by O’Connor’s Ratorth-spawned guards, beaten up a fellow vampire assassin after nearly banging him, had a filing cabinet thrown at me, and my new, thirteen thousand dollar dress is completely ruined.” Okay, so my dress was actually cheaper than that, but she didn’t need to know. “Now exactly what game are you playing, Mish?”

  “Get out,” she whispered.

  I closed the distance between us with another step. “Not until you start talking.”

  “Get out!”

  I grabbed her by the throat in response. Her eyes sparked, spitting green fire at me. I could tolerate a lot of things—I let shit roll off me all the time. I was old, had perspective. Didn’t let petty crap bug me for long.

  But rage filled me fast. Every muscle in my body tingled, urging me to simply snap her neck. It would be easy. Quick and painless. Mish was my friend, and I didn’t have a lot of those. I had trusted her. But... But I looked at her now and had to wonder if I’d ever really known this girl. Married? A hit on her husband?

  “Let me go and get out,” she growled.

  Yeah, I’ll get right on that. I tightened my grip.

  In a situation like that, I completely expected her to give first. But her lips moved in an incantation before I could react. My fingers burned as if touched by a flame; instinctively I released her neck. A little fire spell to keep me from strangling her...understandable, I suppose.

  Her lips parted again; she screamed a word that was foreign to me. An unseen force swept out away from her in all directions, blowing up the couch skirt, rattling pictures on the walls, and striking me hard in the chest. The energy threw me backward and knocked me straight out the smashed window.

  My hand darted out as I fell and I managed to grab one of the railings; my shoulder gave a painful jerk as I stopped midair.

  Fuck.

  I hung for a moment. Thinking. I could go back up there and demand she tell me the truth, but I wouldn’t be getting any further with her tonight. I’d probably just end up killing her which, while fun, wouldn’t get me answers. And I’d need answers ’cause I’d have to find her husband, since presumably she still wanted him dead.

  So. Home, bullet surgery, sleep, and then tomorrow would be Take Two. With a few more answers, hopefully.

  I descended to the pavement and hopped on my bike.

  What isn’t she telling me? I thought as I rode down the darkened street. Well, duh, Zara—she isn’t telling you she has a husband. But the question was why did she want him dead?

  Not that I blamed her. When I awoke after being turned and found out mine was responsible for my death, I wanted him dead. So badly, in fact, that I killed him and his family. It wasn’t as brutal as it could have been if I’d had a few years of practice though it was still sort of fun.

  But Mishka had put me in some serious harm tonight. I had gone in to do a job without all the facts. She believed that there might have been some half-demon guards, but certainly not Ratorth-spawned ones! Those bastards could be pretty nasty if they got their hands on their victim.

  Had she simply said, “Zar, this is my husband and I want you to kill him,” I probably would have pressed for more information, but ultimately I would have just gone in there and done it. Instead, I was caught off guard, and—

  Someone screamed.

  I braked, blocked out the sound of the engine, and listened. A woman shrieked. It definitely came from Mishka’s apartment.

  Double fuck.

  I turned the motorcycle around and sped toward the building.

  Chapter Ten

  The Witch’s Demise

  Mishka screamed again, her voice carrying over the rattling of the fire escape steps as I ran. I’d caused enough terror in my unlife to know something was seriously wrong when someone cried out like that.

  “Who are—no, get out of my—”A crash. A yelp.

  Goddamn it, even with my speed I wished I could move faster...

  Last set of stairs—finally.

  A large, black booted foot hit me square in the chin, throwing me down a level. Cold metal bit my bare shoulders and upper back, and fresh pain tore through my gut where the bullet was lodged.

  Christ, I was having a bad night.

  I looked up to see who my new assailant was. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get a good look at him on account of the black ski mask covering his face.

  So original.

  “Okay.” I started to stand. “I’m really not in the mood for this but—”

  The man leaped down the steps, grabbed me in one hand, and flung me over the railing. I landed hard on my back on the ground, barked my head on the cement and my vision blurred. Whoever threw me was stronger than the average human.

  I heard two sets of feet touch down with a dull thud three feet away. My new enemy was joined by someone else—also dressed in black with his face covered—and I had a feeling there was going to be much more violence in the minutes to come.

  Ugh. My gut ached. I drew myself up onto my elbows. “I don’t suppose we could just talk this over.” The heels of my shoes held up well as I stood; all the wobbling was strictly my own self weakening. I needed to feed. And rest. Maybe a spa day.

  I arched my back in a stretch and it gave a loud crack. “There—did you hear that? I’m really not feeling up to kicking both your asses—”

  I didn’t get to finish as both of them rushed at me and attacked in unison. I pivoted out of their way and sent a kick flying into the back of the nearest guy. He stumbled forward and crashed into his partner.

  Had I been fighting The Three Stooges, it would have been over then. But no, I had to get stuck with trained, experienced fighters, who, by the looks of it, weren’t entirely human. It figures.

  My agility was severely impaired by some of the wounds I had sustained so far. A punch I normally could have dodged hit me in the stomach, reminding me of the bullet lodged in my insides. Like I’d forgotten. As I doubled over, he slammed his elbow into my back and I hit the pavement.

  Yep. I needed a spa day.

  I looked up at him just as that black boot sailed toward me, about to deliver a kick to my ribs. I rolled out of the way and scrambled to my feet. Hands closed on me; the second guy grabbed me from behind. One arm crushed my throat, the other came across my chest, effectively pinning me to him.

  His friend came at me, hand in his pocket. Probably a stake—I’d seen these collapsible metal dealies some hunters carried, and—

  A stun gun?

  “Uh, guys,” I said as he advanced on me. “It’s nice that you don’t want to kill me, but I’d really rather not be unconscious either.”

  Just as the man with the stun gun reached me, I grabbed a hold of his partner’s arms and kicked off the ground. I positioned one foot behind Stun-Gun-Guy’s neck and pressed the other to his face. Pain, hot and burning, struck me as he shocked me with the gun; I brushed it aside and swiftly snapped his neck.

  He crumpled into a heap. My feet touched the ground, and I yanked the man holding me over my shoulder and dropped him on the road.

  Shivers—or more like twitches, I supposed—danced over my skin. I blinked hard, brushed the hair from my face. Spa week. In Bermuda. I’d buy a plane ticket as soon as I got home.

  Gunfire sounded in Mishka’s apartment, popping like firecrackers. Something dark splattered over one of the windows.

  Shit.

  I raced to the fire escape and started climbing up it again.

&n
bsp; The air crackled behind me. A sphere of fire—the size of a basketball—flew through the air, over my head, and into Mish’s apartment. An explosion followed, shaking the building. Mishka’s floor burst into flame, glass shattering and flying out to paint the pavement below in jagged-edged moonlight. The blast struck me too, blew me back from the building. I soared through the air, hit the wall of the apartment complex across the street, and then slumped to the pavement.

  For a moment I sat there like a broken ragdoll, her stuffing all torn out and put back in wrong. My knees were streaked with blood. Arms caked with it too. My stomach wasn’t happy about that bullet still, nor was my back thrilled about how many times I’d hit a hard surface in the past five minutes. Nothing cracked—not yet—but even my extra strong bones could be broken if they took enough abuse, and healing hurt like hell.

  As I stood, I spotted another masked man—this one with a regular gun—coming around from the front of the building, where the entrance was. So he must be the one who shot Mish...

  I didn’t have time to think up a plan. The man who’s neck I had just finished snapping hopped to his feet, as if nothing had happened at all. The three of them started toward me.

  When faced with three assailants who couldn’t die by conventional means and were capable of throwing fireballs, there is really only one option. Get the fuck away from them. Fast.

  I sprinted for my motorcycle. Only a dozen steps from it, another fireball flew past me. Oh shi— I dove out of the way just as it hit the gas tank and the bike exploded. Warmth danced over my skin and fire crackled with yellow-orange light.

  So I was without wheels too. Time to run like hell.

  I scrambled, heels scraping the pavement and torn gown whipping around my legs, and fled around the building. The black, dank mouth of an alley opened up, and I darted into its waiting darkness. A barrage of bullets followed; I ducked behind a dumpster. I really couldn’t afford to get hit too many more times—not if I planned to get out of there, which I did. Even if they weren’t planning to kill me, I wasn’t overly zealous to find out exactly why they were after me.