Don't Talk Back To Your Vampire

by Michele Bardsley

  Terror chilled me as I backed against the large oak. The press of the bark on my back scratched me, but comforted me as well. The tree was big and strong—and somehow that reminded me that I could be, too.

  Lycanthropes. The security guards hired by the Consortium were lycanthropes, or lycans— known to humans as werewolves. True lycans looked more like very big wolves and usually loped around on four paws. Yet these monsters looked like stray canines and were very much two-legged. They looked starved and abused. They watched me with dark, hollow eyes. One stood ahead of the other two—and I guessed he was the leader. A long scar curved around his right eye. His snout twitched as he scented me, those awful eyes watching me hungrily. I’d seen enough Discovery Channel specials to recognize the alpha. He would kill me and feed first. The other two would dine on my leftovers.

  My stomach quivered with nausea.

  Images battered at me. Pain. Needles. Electric shock. Fire. Chains. Screaming. Blood. I shut the door, my mind reeling from the horror of those flashes. These poor souls had been vampires, but they barely remembered their pasts. Now they were beasts. They had been tortured, brainwashed—transformed into . . . lycans?

  “Eva! What the bloody hell are you doing here?” asked a furious male voice.

  I followed the pure sound of pissed-off Irish up . . . up . . . up into the branches of the oak.

  Lorcan peered down at me. “What are you waiting for? Jump into the tree.”

  Oh, yeah. I could jump. I bent my knees and surged upward, my arms extended. Lorcan grabbed my wrists and swung me onto the same sturdy branch he crouched on.

  We watched as the beasts surrounded the tree, growling as they contemplated their next move.

  Lorcan’s gaze captured mine and I felt my nonexistent pulse stutter.

  The alpha was smarter than the other two. He jumped as if his legs were springs, grabbing the limb above Lorcan and kicking the surprised vampire in the face.

  Lorcan flew out of the tree. He stopped just short of the ground, hovering. I had to take my gaze off him because the growling beast dropped beside me, his snarling, stinky body less than six inches from mine.

  “Go away!” He looked as if I’d slapped him. I swear that he actually made a move to leave— before he was helped by the fist of Lorcan.

  I watched as the mutant fell out of the tree. He twisted in midair and landed on his feet.

  “We need to go,” said Lorcan.

  I looked up through the thick limbs. “What happens when we run out of branches?”

  He looked at me, brows raised. “Who said anything about climbing up?”

  In the next instant, he wrapped a steely arm around my waist and whoosh—up we went, all right—into the black sky. The lycans scrabbling at the tree below us howled in despair.

  “Woo-hoo!” I held on to his neck and looked around, excited.

  He kicked up the speed and we zipped across the forest in nothing flat. Before I knew it, we were hovering above my house. I felt giddy. I enjoyed being wrapped around Lorcan. He felt very muscular and heaven knew he was handsome. It had been a long, long, long time since I’d felt a man’s arms around me. As we floated to the balcony outside my bedroom, he was smiling that smile, the one that made his silver eyes sparkle.

  “Can you go even faster?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “But you wouldn’t appreciate bugs in your teeth.”

  I pressed my tongue against my teeth—just to check. “Good call.”

  Even though we had landed, I hadn’t freed myself from Lorcan’s embrace. He seemed to notice this about the same time I did. The light went right out of his eyes and his expression flattened. “Please, forgive me,” he murmured.

  He let go of me like I was aflame, then backed away until a good two feet separated us. I was offended by his need to create distance. For heaven’s sake, I should be the one running away and screaming.

  “What were you doing out in the forest?” he asked.

  I figured the best defense was offense. “What were you doing there?”

  He ignored my question and studied my boots. “Hiking? It’s not like you need the exercise.”

  “Because I’m svelte and cute?”

  “Because you’re a vampire.”

  I stared at him, brows raised. “I have a book in the library called Compliments and Flattery: A Guide for Social Morons. You might want to check it out.”

  His lips quirked, but he stepped farther back, as if physical distance would also give him emotional distance. Sheesh. Would it kill him to relax a little? “Don’t fall over the rail trying to get away from me,” I said. “I showered, y’know. I spritzed with perfume, too.”

  “I’m aware of your scent.” His words held a dangerous edge that sent my pulse skittering. Then he bared his fangs, his eyes going red for a split second. Startled, I felt my stomach dive to my toes. His gaze lingered on my neck, though I wasn’t sure if he was thinking about my fragrance or my jugular. Then his eyes flicked to mine. “Sandalwood . . . lemongrass . . . vanilla.” His nostrils flared. “There’s something else.”

  “Ylang-ylang. I mix my own perfume. I’m still looking for the perfect Eva aroma.” I laughed weakly, feeling uneasy.

  “You smell . . . um, nice.”

  “It’s no problem, Lorcan. I’ll get the book for you right now.”

  He shook his head ruefully. “I know how to give a compliment, a stóirín.”

  The Irish accent that barely tinged his voice thickened with every word. Those lyrical sounds went right through me: pling, pling, pling. “Prove it,” I challenged.

  He crossed the space he’d put between us and tugged the band out of my ponytail. “The sun weeps because it can no longer caress your skin or warm your lips.” He sifted his fingers through my hair. “I do not envy the sun, Eva. But I truly hate the moon, because its light touches you in all the ways I cannot.”

  I swallowed the knot in my throat as sensual awareness danced along every nerve. He leaned very, very close, his eyes ensnaring mine, and whispered, “How was that?”

  “Um.” I licked my lips. “Not bad.”

  His gaze dipped to my mouth and for an almost pulse-pounding moment, I thought he might kiss me. Then he blinked and seemed to realize he was sharing my personal space. He backed up a few steps.

  “Stay out of the forest, Eva. It’s not safe.” He frowned, his black brows dipping ominously. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

  “That’s kinda ironic coming from you.” It was a low blow, but he’d put me off-kilter. It wasn’t like me to verbally punch at people, and I felt bad the minute I said the words.

  “I can never, ever pay enough penance for what I did,” he said. “I’m sorry, Eva, a thousand times sorry.”

  “Lorcan . . .”

  He shook his head, stalling my apology. He rose a few feet into the air and hovered. Aw, man. I loved the sensation of zipping through the air. I really regretted that he probably wouldn’t take me up again. “Eva?”

  “Yes?”

  “You don’t have to exercise.”

  “Because I’m a vampire?”

  “No.” A smile ghosted his lips. “Because you’re svelte and cute.”

  He shot into the sky and flew away. I wished I was part of the Family Ruadan, which was the only vampire sect with flying abilities. Lorcan was part sidhe. As half fairy, he could fly and any vampire Turned by him or his children could fly, too.

  Me-oh-my. Tingling from his compliment, I stared at the sky and wished for his return. So much regret between us . . . so much possibility.

  I’d been killed, brought back as a vampire, and heck, I had the same problems, same feelings, same joys and sorrows as a human. My diet was different, and I worked at night, but really, how much had changed for me? Life was for living, not grieving. That’s what my mother taught me. She also taught me that holding a grudge weighed down your own heart.

  Jess kept trying to incorporate Lorcan into the Broken Heart community. Not many of u
s had helped her. Not even Lorcan. He felt too guilty about what he’d done to ever be part of Broken Heart. Plus, he was feeling a little too sorry for himself.

  Jessica had shown me some of the books he’d written—in many cases by hand—and he’d sketched and painted, too. He was a wonderful writer, but just as serious with his words as with his countenance. Was he afraid to laugh? Was he afraid that if he smiled or chuckled, the Turn-bloods he’d accidentally made would lynch him?

  Forgiving somebody for the wrongs they’ve done you was more difficult than trying to catch a ride on a moonbeam. But it was far more difficult to forgive yourself: I knew this from experience. How many times had I wondered about the kind of mother I was? The kind of life I was giving Tamara? When she was born, I was single, unwed, and barely out of high school.

  Yeah, self-forgiveness was a real bitch.

  My mother, who’d never remarried after Daddy died, made her living as a waitress. She got me a job at Ralph’s Restaurant, a little mom-and-pop place off the old Route 66. Waiting tables and reading books and playing mommy—that’s about all I did for the first ten years of Tamara’s life. I couldn’t afford day care, but Ralph made sure Mom and I had different shifts so one of us could be home with Tamara. Then Mom got sick—and, well, life went from tolerable to terrible in a split second.

  My mother taught me as much about dying as she did about living. I think she would’ve gotten a big ol’ kick out of being a vampire. I shook off the old memories. No use being a Sad Sally, as Mom would say. Can’t buy beans with an ounce of regret. I smiled. That was Mom’s way of saying I could look at the past all I wanted, but I couldn’t change it.

  Exhaustion poured through me, sudden and heavy. Sunrise was near. My body went kaput the second the sun hit the skyline. I opened the French doors and closed them behind me. My old bedroom looked bare and lonely. My stomach clenched when I realized that soon the house would be gone. Razed and forgotten, like so much else in this town.

  I left and hurried down the stairs. In the hallway, I pounded on Tamara’s door. The wall of music went down half a notch as Tamara adjusted the volume.

  “ ’Night, baby girl.”

  “G’night.”

  The sad, beautiful sounds of Evanescence entranced me. I thought about Lorcan. How haunted he was . . . how beautiful, too. Not to mention clever. He had avoided answering my question. What had he been doing in the woods? And why wasn’t he surprised to find the lycans there?

  Chapter 7

  Help. I need help. Please, someone help me. HELP ME!

  I woke up, shoving off the covers as I scrambled out of bed. If I’d still reacted like a human, sweat would’ve poured off my brow and my heart would’ve pounded furiously. Though I had no bodily reactions to prove it, I was seriously freaked out.

  Foreboding lodged in my stomach like bad chili. Cramps radiated from my midsection as cold streaked through me. Dry-mouthed and scared, I tried to shake off my duress.

  I needed some nosh to settle my stomach and my nerves.

  I dressed in a pair of faded jeans, a purple T-shirt with LIBRARIANS DO IT BY THE BOOK scrolled in gold, and a pair of purple flip-flops. The gold rose found its way onto the purple T-shirt. Was I a sucker or what?

  When I got upstairs, I used my vamp senses to check on my daughter: slow, even breathing and steady heartbeat. She had never been a “morning” person, so I often made myself scarce until she’d had breakfast and a shower.

  I went to my desk to search for my Consortium-issued cell phone. Not in the charger. Crap. The backpack. I had dropped it during my run-in with the hungry lycans. I’d have to go back and find it, but I sure wasn’t going back alone. I used the library’s phone and dialed Jessica’s number. It rang and rang and rang until the voice mail came on. I left a brief message. Jessica rarely carried her phone and even when she did, she forgot to turn it on or kept it on silent.

  Who else could I call? Jess was the unofficial leader of the Broken Heart Turn-bloods and she was hitched to Patrick, who was vampire royalty. If he didn’t have an answer, he’d know how to find one. I had never called Patrick directly. I liked the guy, but he was intimidating. I felt too much like a peon around him and the other Masters. I didn’t have a high school degree. I’d traded that for Tamara. I was a voracious reader, though. I devoured everything from literary classics to romance novels to celebrity autobiographies. I loved to learn—I just didn’t have any fancy paperwork to prove it.

  Pacing through the dusty shelves of the first-floor library, I still felt unnerved, though I couldn’t remember an actual dream. Only those frantic words instilled with pain reverberated in my mind. I hadn’t ever had telepathy with humans, much less with animals. The vibes I got off most creatures were fuzzy images and simple emotions. I thought of the starved lycans romping around in the woods. Had I been dreaming of them and simply added words to those terrible images I’d glimpsed?

  I was starting to feel really dumb and paranoid. Maybe the nightmare and my strange agitation were a delayed reaction to last night’s adventure. After all, I’d almost been monster chow. Then I’d been rescued by Lorcan. I wondered if Lorcan had told Patrick about the beasts.

  I wasn’t in the administrative loop—as evidenced by the letter stating that my job and my home were no longer mine. Following on Lorcan’s coattails in the Consortium library didn’t appeal to me at all. I sighed. Okay, that was a lie. The idea of spending the evenings with Lorcan among books collected over centuries held mondo appeal.

  For the Broken Heart library, I had tracked down every vampire book I could find. I had shelves and shelves of nonfiction titles that had grown dusty from disuse. I also had shelves and shelves of paranormal fiction by Charlaine Harris, MaryJanice Davidson, L. A. Banks, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Rosemary Laurey, J. C. Wilder, and many others. Those got checked out a lot. I couldn’t keep Undead and Unwed on the shelves. It was a freaking hilarious book, too, written from the first-person perspective of a vampire queen named Betsy. I had ordered two more hardcovers because the request list was twenty names long.

  I would miss being the librarian. I would miss owning my house and being in charge of the little library. As much as I wanted to hold on to it all, though, I knew the futility of trying to escape change, of trying to forestall what was meant to be. Argh! It felt like giving up, and I hated to give up.

  Library hours were from ten p.m. to three a.m., which gave me time to visit Charlie or Alison and afterward to putter around the manse doing librarian-type stuff. Charlie and Alison were two of four donors who’d moved into Jessica’s old house on Sanderson Street. The century-old Victorian held too many bad memories for Jess and her family, so after she bound with Patrick, they moved into the old Silverstone mansion on the outskirts of town. They had been fixing it up room by room.

  The two-story colonial home was once owned by an oil baron named Jeremiah Silverstone. The house squatted on fifty acres of fenced land. The Silverstones were one of the five families, along with the McCrees and the LeRoys, who had founded Broken Heart in the Sooner days. Jeremiah was an only child who never married and never had kids. About fifty years ago, he disappeared. One day, lawyers showed up and announced that Jeremiah had donated the house to the town. Then they promptly emptied it of all valuable objects. The town had been too poor to do anything with the property, though both a bed-and-breakfast and a museum had been suggested. Despite valiant efforts by more than one eager Realtor, no one had ever bought it.

  So Patrick traded in his bachelorhood and his custom RV for a big ol’ house, a wife, and three kids. The only thing missing was a family dog. No matter how much her kids begged, Jessica had never caved in to their wheedling for a house pet. She would mutter, “Not after the Hamster Incident, damn it,” and the subject would be dropped. However, Jessica’s no-pet decree hadn’t stopped Patrick from acquiring a white and gray pony subsequently named Glitter, which he gave to his stepdaughter Jenny, a nine-year-old with a tiara fetish.

  I went out the f
ront door and stood on the porch, pretending I could breathe in the sweet night air. I knew far, far too much about the town because I had no life and so I had time to collect information as an unofficial historian. Granted, my efforts had taken a strange turn, since I was now documenting the paranormal events, too.

  Help me, please!

  My hands clutched the porch railing so hard it cracked. Someone was projecting their thoughts into my mind. I looked down at the split wood and grimaced. Jessica had told me that she and Patrick could poke around in each other’s heads. Usually, only bound vampires could communicate telepathically, though the ability wasn’t always limited to mates.

  How had someone tuned in to me? Was it a vampire in trouble? Or an animal? An animal who could articulate words in English? Ridiculous. Says the vampire. I was a mythical creature, but I couldn’t fathom a talking animal. As Tamara would intone, “You are a doofus giganticus.”

  I had no idea if the pleas were real or just me losing my mind. If someone had managed to psychically reach me, I had no idea where to find them. I licked my lips. I was really thirsty. At the mere thought of blood, my fangs popped out. I ran my tongue over the sharp incisors.

  I leapt over the porch railing and landed lightly in the front yard. I looked around, but nothing seemed out of place. The animals were gathering: squirrels and birds, deer and raccoons, snakes and mice.

  No! Get away!

  The fear vibrating in the words, in the thoughts, was very real.

  Where are you? I ventured mentally, feeling like an idiot.

  I’m in the woods north of the cemetery. Please help me.

  “Sorry, guys, I gotta go.” The creatures paused and stared at me. Feeling guilty about the temporary abandonment, I held out my hands in supplication. “I’ll be right back.”

  That seemed to satisfy them. I hurried into the street, then ran at warp vampire speed. The cemetery was nearly ten miles away, but I got there in no time flat. I stopped at the edge of the woods, hesitating. The unspoken rule was that this area was off-limits. Three months ago, the Wraiths, vampires who thought world domination was a fine idea, had caused some problems for us. The Consortium responded to the threats by blowing up the cavern the Wraiths had been hiding in and, along with it, most of the Wraiths.