Nine Lives (Lifeline Book 1)

by Kit Colter

  The female wore a high collared black trench coat that reached from cheekbone to ankle. Incredibly pale blue eyes peered out from beneath that drape of black hair. Holding Erin against the wall, she turned to the ongoing struggle.

  Erin was afraid to look. Sirian was already hurt, already weak from sunlight.

  Just then, Sirian’s body careened into the kitchen and thudded against the refrigerator, smearing blood across the floor, the counter, the cabinets. The male intruder strode into the kitchen, kicked Sirian in the face, and then placed his boot against Sirian’s throat. He pulled out a large tactical knife with a black, serrated blade.

  Erin felt a surge of nausea.

  “So?” the male asked.

  With blood still coursing over her face, the female pushed back Erin’s upper lip and examined her teeth.

  “No fangs,” she said.

  “I’m not a vampire.” Erin clenched her jaw, grabbed the female’s wrist, and tried to pry her neck free. She had no effect. At all.

  “Then what’re we supposed to do?” the female asked the other.

  “Don’t know about her,” he said, then turned to Sirian. “But we’re allowed to kill him.”

  Erin gritted her teeth. Sirian was completely motionless, body slumped—would have slid to the floor if it weren’t for the male’s boot pinning him against the refrigerator.

  “Don’t—” Erin went quiet as a white figure appeared in the doorway, silent and still. A woman, probably in her thirties, with long blond hair reaching past her waist. She had sad green eyes and a long, slender face. She wore an elegant, but simple white gown. At first, Erin thought it was the gown that was the problem—that there was something wrong with it—but then she realized it was also the woman’s hair, face, arms, hands, her bare feet. It all seemed fine at first glance, but the longer Erin looked the more she realized that there was something about the woman’s outline, her edges, that was ever-so-slightly blurred.

  “Wait a moment,” the woman said, and immediately the two intruders went to her side. Looking at them, Erin realized they weren’t just two tall, slender, incredibly frightening assassins; they were two tall, slender, and incredibly frightening twin assassins. A male and a female—nearly identical.

  Then nothing happened. Erin just stood there, staring at the woman. And the woman stood there, staring at her. The twins stood at either side, looking distinctly impatient. And nothing happened.

  Realizing the woman was waiting for Erin to do or say something, she figured she’d take her time. She grabbed Sirian by the arm and dragged him backward across the kitchen floor, then knelt and lightly slapped his face.

  “Wake up. We’re in trouble,” she said. “Hey.”

  She slapped him again, a little harder this time. She wanted him awake and fighting. So far, he’d been determined to save her—apparently for himself—and right now she was in serious trouble.

  Sirian flinched and sat up, looking straight past Erin to the towering intruders. “Gemini,” he growled.

  “Huh?” Erin asked.

  The woman in white stepped forward. “Erin,” she said.

  Erin stood, ignoring Sirian as he clawed his way up the counter behind her. “Yes?” she said.

  “You’re going to die tonight,” the woman said, regarding her with a gentle, saddened expression. “Is there anything you would like to know before you die?”

  “Why? I don’t understand this.”

  “We did not mean for it to be this way, Erin,” the woman said sorrowfully. “When we found you ... Realized what had happened ... I’m sorry it must be this way.” She took a very slow breath.

  “I don’t—I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Erin said. “Who are you?”

  “Difficult decisions must be made to govern this world, Erin,” the woman said. “You understand that as well as anyone.”

  “No. No, I don’t understand that at all.”

  “When we sent him, he was supposed to kill you. We sent him so that you would not come to this ending, Erin. Before you began to learn the truth. Before you began to see ... to understand. Your life was meant to end in a single, blinding instant.”

  “But I don’t even know who you are,” Erin stammered. “Or him? Him who?” She turned sharply to Sirian. “You!?” she cried. “You’ve been—”

  “He doesn’t know, Erin,” the woman said. “Sirian was never supposed to know.” She took another very slow breath. “We set him on your path knowing he would get close enough to touch you—and then he would kill you. Regardless of whether or not you rose again, the power—because it is a living power—would be extinguished. I should have sent the Gemini then, but the Corporation, our allies, could not learn of this plan. Couldn’t learn of you.” She gave Erin a long, remorseful look. “But time is running short. We can wait no longer. You must die. Fight as you will, but know that we are not your enemies. We would change it if we could.”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong.” Erin tried not to look at the twins, tried not to think about the enormous black knife clutched in the male’s right hand.

  “You must die because of who you are. Because of the terrible power to which your soul is bound.”

  “But I don’t have any power.”

  “Each breath you take increases the risk of it escaping, of the enemy capturing it or unleashing it. The risk is too great to let you live. I am truly sorry, Erin.” Tears slipped down the woman’s cheeks as she spoke. “Gemini, end her now.”

  The twins didn’t move.

  “Gemini. End her,” the woman said again, this time more forcefully.

  The twins glanced at each other in a swift, silent consultation.

  “Screw that,” they said simultaneously, then turned and strolled out the door.

  The woman called after them in confusion. She stared at the empty doorway, some indecipherable emotion angling her features. Eventually, she looked at Erin. “Make good use of your time. It will be short.”

  With that, the woman turned and drifted out of the apartment.

  Erin tried, and failed, to process what had just happened. She glanced at Sirian, who leaned weakly against the counter, his face damp with sweat, limbs shaking with exhaustion. The weight of his dark gaze felt like the touch of burning embers—unbearable. Erin felt a thrill of fear and bolted across the apartment. She retrieved her bat from the living room and ran back into the kitchen, sliding sideways across the blood-slick floor. She jerked the bat back, then slammed it into Sirian’s right leg.

  He let out a low grunt and collapsed.

  “That’s for almost biting me,” she said, then slowly cocked the bat back again. “Now, tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Sirian looked at her face, then her neck. He didn’t speak.

  “Who was that?” Erin asked.

  “The Gemini.” He started to push himself up.

  Erin swung the bat at Sirian’s head so that he had to duck to the floor. “Stay down,” she ordered.

  He gave her a dark look of amusement, warning her and simultaneously daring her to continue.

  “Explain Gemini,” Erin pushed.

  “The Crusaders’ brand of exterminator,” Sirian said with a grin.

  “Crusaders?”

  “Side of the White Light,” he said.

  “They’re the good guys?” Erin asked, aghast.

  He nodded.

  “Exterminators?” she asked.

  “They kill demons, vampires, non-humans in general, and a few psy’s who get in the way,” he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

  Erin stared. She didn’t catch all of that, but she got the point. “They’re monster killers, then.”

  “Essentially,” he said.

  “So, why are they after me?”

  Sirian just looked at her.

  “Do you know what she meant? About my soul being bound?”

  Sirian’s expression remained unreadable. If he knew, he wasn’t going to tell her. Erin’s shoulders slumpe
d in fatigue and frustration. She moved one hand to her throbbing ribcage. This was the worst day of her life. She wanted, desperately, to close her eyes and sleep for a month.

  “Are you alright?” Sirian asked.

  Erin glared at him. “Do you have any idea how much I dislike you?” she asked.

  Sirian watched her, calm and waiting, but then his attention shifted to the front door. Erin whirled around to see a sleek black figure prowl into sight. Krysis.

  “I should have guessed the Gemini were in town for you.” Krysis pinned her icy green eyes on Erin. “Our girl really is something, isn’t she?”

  “Not you,” Erin moaned. “Get out. Go away. Leave me alone.”

  Krysis let out an indulgent laugh. “Oh, you don’t really mean that,” she said, slinking forward. Her attention moved to Sirian. “Mmm, you smell like seizures, Sirian. It’s really not a good idea to go wandering about in the daylight. You should know that by now.”

  Sirian let out a quiet, tired laugh.

  Moving very slowly, as if trying to avoid agitating an angry dog, Erin grabbed her jacket off the counter. Her car keys were in the left pocket. She looked at Krysis for a moment, then glanced at Sirian, who was still watching her as though he knew exactly what she was about to do.

  Erin leapt forward, slammed the bat into Krysis, and darted out the door.

  Krysis smirked and took her first step in the same direction.

  “Don’t,” Sirian said.

  She looked at him with a cold expression.

  “Leave her,” he said.

  “Why should I?” Krysis asked, tilting one brow.

  “Leave her,” he pressed.

  A grin slithered across Krysis’s lips. Her body shifted smoothly toward Sirian, menace spelled out in curving black leather. “You’re so possessive. So attached.” With each word, she crept stealthily forward. “You’ve gotten greedy about this one, Sirian.” Her expression sharpened. “Are you really ready to die for her?”

  Sirian forced himself to his feet. “Let’s do this, then,” he said, tensing his jaw.

  Krysis let out a laugh. “I’m sure you’re up for a fight—hardly able to stand.”

  Sirian wiped the blood from his nose and waited, measuring her breaths, the pulse in her neck, the dilation of her pupils.

  Krysis grinned. “Mmm, this is going to be fun.” She bent down slightly, her grin spreading into a smile, then pounced.

  Chapter 11

  Erin drove around town for nearly three hours, half-convinced that the only safe place in Phoenix was a moving vehicle. Close to day-break, she found herself standing on the last doorstep she ever would have imagined herself fleeing to. She had already pressed the doorbell. Erin looked down to see she had never gotten around to buttoning up her fresh shirt. She quickly did so and tucked her suitcase and softball bat behind her back.

  The door opened. A young woman appeared wearing a pink house robe with a purple towel wrapped around the top of her head. Cotton balls were stuffed between her toes, which glistened faintly with fresh red nail polish.

  “Erin?” Stephanie said with a puzzled expression. “You look terrible.”

  Erin didn’t know how to respond to that.

  “Well, hurry up,” Stephanie said.

  Erin stepped into the house, easing to the side to avoid the swing of the door as Stephanie slammed it closed. She didn’t know if that was Stephanie’s way of telling her she was a nuisance, but she didn’t care.

  “Come here and help me out, would you?” Stephanie requested. “I can’t reach my shoes, and Randy has my step-stool.”

  Erin followed Stephanie through the small house to the bedroom and into the walk-in closet. Stephanie pointed up at a black shoebox sitting on the shelf above her clothes rack. Stephanie was a petite five foot three with frosted blond hair, and a delicate touch of freckles across her nose which she tried desperately to hide with too much make-up.

  Erin rolled onto her toes, reaching. Couldn’t get it. She used the end of her softball bat to guide the shoe box off shelf, caught it, and winced against the pain in her side. She’d almost forgotten about the injury until then.

  Erin handed the box to Stephanie.

  “Thanks,” Stephanie said. “So, it’s kind of early. What are you doing here?” she asked, turning around and digging through one of her dresser drawers.

  Erin just stood there. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she could say.

  Stephanie turned around, looking her up and down. “You really do look terrible, Erin.”

  “Can I stay here?” Erin asked. “Just until tomorrow.”

  “Here?” she asked.

  Erin nodded.

  “I guess,” Stephanie said. “But I may not be coming home tonight,” she added. When Erin didn’t respond, she went on anyway. “I have a date with the perfect man tonight,” Stephanie said. “He’s a senior. Majoring in engineering or something like that. And he’s gorgeous.” She grabbed her phone and showed Erin the screen, which displayed a square-jawed man with caramel hair and dimples. He was smiling, and there were trees in the background. “And,” Stephanie said importantly, “he’s got money.” She gave Erin an excited smile.

  “Nice,” Erin said, finally realizing why she’d come here. This was the one place on earth where she wouldn’t have to explain a single thing. Stephanie could blather on about herself through a hurricane. All Erin had to do was keep her talking.

  “Is he perfect or what?” Stephanie asked, pushing the image a little closer.

  “Close as it gets,” Erin said absently.

  “Exactly,” Stephanie said. “Ugh, I am going to get my hands on this one.”

  “Good luck,” Erin said.

  “I don’t need luck,” Stephanie said. “I have tactics.”

  “Good luck with your tactics,” Erin said.

  Stephanie frowned. “How’s your man hunt going, anyhow?” she asked as she stepped into the closet.

  “I don’t have one,” Erin said. “Remember, I’m with Andrew?” She was too tired to explain that they weren’t even sorta-together anymore and didn’t want to deal with the questions.

  “Oh, yeah,” Stephanie mumbled. “But I know you’re dying to upgrade,” she said, breezing back out of the closet with two short dresses still on the hangers. “What do you think? Which one for the date?” she asked, switching them back and forth in front of her body. “The black’s sexy, but the silky blue is, I dunno, like, mysterious or something. You know?” She switched them again. “I still haven’t made up my mind, so what do you think?”

  “Blue,” Erin said. “Then do your make-up on the sexy side. Wear the black choker to get some dark colors in the mix.”

  Stephanie grinned, draping the blue dress across her torso and looking in the mirror. Leaned from one side to the other. Smiled at herself. “See, I knew you’d know what to do with this. No one would ever know it to look at you, but there’s killer sense of style hiding under all that denim.”

  Erin shrugged.

  “So? Any new possibilities?” Stephanie asked.

  Erin frowned. “I am not dying to upgrade, Steph. Andrew and I get along.”

  “Yeah, like cousins,” Stephanie said. “Or fishing buddies, or old ladies who go to Friday night bingo together. You two are not dating. I don’t care what you say.”

  Erin sighed and sat down on the bed. “Any other insights?” she asked, glancing at the clock. She was unbelievably tired.

  “Yeah, you look terrible,” Stephanie said. “Have you tried concealer on those?”

  Erin sighed, a little louder this time.

  “What did you say happened again?” Stephanie dropped a pair of nylons on the bed.

  “Car crash,” Erin said.

  Stephanie didn’t respond for a moment, then pulled a bra out of the drawer and tossed it onto the bed. “Oh,” she said, then walked down the hall and out of sight. Seconds later, Erin heard the whirring hum of a hair dryer. She slid off the bed, st
retched out on the floor, clutched the bat to her chest, and fell asleep.

  * * *

  Ringing.

  Erin opened her eyes and saw a white ceiling overhead. Just to the left was the soft curve of a mattress. Ringing.

  Erin blinked as her vision came back into focus.

  Ringing—the phone.

  She listened a moment longer, then heard the ringing stop. Erin eased into a sitting position, pointedly ignoring the pain in her side, and looked at the clock. Noon. She’d spent over six hours asleep on Stephanie’s bedroom floor with her arms wrapped around her softball bat. Erin leaned the bat against the bed and dug her phone out of her jacket pocket. The screen was cracked. She pressed the menu button. Nothing. She crawled over to her suitcase and pulled out her cell phone charger, quickly plugging it into the power outlet and attaching her phone. She leaned against the wall, breathing slowly, and waited. For a moment, she thought she’d fall back asleep. Then her phone chimed to life. Erin squinted down at the broken screen and brought up the list of missed calls. Her parents had called two dozen times. So had her brother and sister. And Isaiah. And another number she didn’t recognize. Erin frowned, accessed her voicemail, and braced herself.

  She had ten messages from her parents, each escalating in urgency, until the final three ended with promises to call the police if she didn’t respond soon. Her brother left a message saying he knew she was probably okay, but that she was scaring mom and dad and needed to let them know she hadn’t been abducted. Her sister left a message saying she didn’t have time for Erin’s drama and to fix the situation before it got any worse. Isaiah said that he was worried, that some cop named Ibarra was asking questions about her, and that Erin had to give him a chance to help. And last but not least, a man introduced himself as Detective Ibarra, explained that a Missing Persons Report had been filed, and asked for a return call as soon as possible. Erin grimaced, tucked her phone—still attached to the charger—back into her suitcase, and told herself she would figure it out after she ate.