Awakening (Fire & Ice Book 1)

by Karen Payton

  Broken bones in immortals were rare, so his inspection of the girl had been cursory, although essential. He knew displaced bones could interrupt the blood flow through the tissue and the dead spots would harden to a leaden weight. Removal’s not always possible and no one enjoys dragging a lump of granite around, so it’s best to catch it early.

  Still replaying the consultation, he whisked down the hallway, his fingers flexing at his sides as if he relived the jolt which shot up his arm when he touched the chilled flesh of her stomach. His jaw snapped shut. He huffed in irritation, and the same odor which burned his sinuses when in the examination room stung his nasal lining again.

  What was the singeing aroma? He groped around in his mental filing system. It was more than the metallic blood fumes detectable after feeding. Somewhere in the last hundred years I’ve had this feeling, but when? His throat felt raw, and the urge to feed flooded his mouth with a venom and anticoagulant cocktail. The girl’s scent clung like syrup, and it was as though someone had rung his dinner bell. I’m missing something.

  His frustration grew as he chased down and discarded possibilities.

  Perhaps I need revival sleep. He found putting in forty hours at the hospital easy. He preferred dealing with those he could read. Most of the patients I see are as challenging as a comic book. Take that female, her mistakes are tragically predictable.

  Connor grinned. Now, if Julian had his way and forced me to join the hive council, I’d expect my stress levels to be through the roof. Dealing with manufactured smiles and cloaked intentions of councilors may have suited Julian for the past few decades, but I favor the direct approach.

  Thankfully, Connor found the familiar surroundings of his hospital made handling his sleep requirements an effortless routine. Until today.

  It amused him knowing humans thought the undead didn’t sleep’. If only they knew. Sleep was the dangerous balancing act of relinquishing control and letting the inner demons out to play. The difficulty came in choosing when to sleep.

  And the girl won’t survive long if she doesn’t get to grips with that. Connor’s thoughts settled a hard smile on his face as he muttered aloud, “I don’t have time to babysit her, and she should have learned this stuff by now. It’s not that hard.”

  He wondered if he should have talked her through the anger management of rap-sleep and the psychosis of grave sleep, then grimaced.

  I feel like a glorified nursemaid. But the girl was gnawing at instincts which stretched beyond those of parenting. Her scent had gotten past his throat. His lungs stung, even now. His ribcage bellowed to expel her taste and he began to pant uncontrollably; this was not a normal undead function. The last time I felt like this, I was on the human farm and overdue for rap-sleep. Their damp odor played havoc-

  Connor stopped dead as realization hit.

  He retraced his steps, sweeping through the empty examination room, then raced along the hospital corridors. He burst out through the solid glass doors, stopped at the top of the flight of stone steps, and scanned the sidewalk. He glanced at his watch. Fourteen seconds. She can’t have got far. He descended the steps and made his way to the side exit. When he saw the girl, he surged forward, gripped her arm and moved her into a shaded alcove. He stood so close she couldn’t look up without colliding with his chin.

  “You’re human,” he said, pushing the words through clamped teeth. He turned his head to watch the street, the muscle ticking in his jaw betraying his air of calm.

  Looking down, Connor met her gaze and, even though she was trembling, he found gritty determination in her brown eyes. Her chin lifted to a defiant angle, and he almost smiled. What did it take to brazen this out? He cocked his head as the rushing tide of her pulse throbbing against his cold palm stirred the silt of his own human memories. Things were suddenly not as clear as he expected.

  She swallowed noisily.

  “Where is your hideaway?” he asked. “And don’t waste time lying, you need to get back before others notice you.” He glanced down at her set features. “You’ll be safer with me.”

  “I can get back alone.”

  “Mmm. Our females are outnumbered,” he said quietly.

  “What are you?” she whispered.

  “Folklore labelled us vampires.” Connor smiled. “It’s as good a name as any.”

  The girl frowned.

  Connor rocked his weight from one foot to the other, impatient to get moving. “Enough talking, we need to move. You’ll stand out like a sore thumb without an escort. Human men were no match for our females, however, when up against our own kind, you- I mean they are still the weaker sex. You need me.” Skepticism coated the words as he added, “And, do you know what time it is?”

  Despite his white-coated torso obscuring her view, Connor sensed that she understood. Beneath his grasp, he felt a shudder rattle through her body He shifted slightly, allowing her sight of the eerily silent procession of bodies flowing past, each one had peacefully rapt expressions molded to their faces. By early evening, the streets would be crowded with immortals out walking.

  “It’s called ‘promenade’. You’ll just have to trust me,” he said. Raising a brow, he added, “So, where are we going?”

  The slump of her shoulders was the sign Connor needed. She had barely acknowledged defeat when he slipped his cold hand around her waist and spanned her ribcage. The girl’s feet lightly skimmed the sidewalk as he disguised her cumbersome human gait. Using the flowing tide of promenade, they glided along until he peeled away from the throng and accelerated rapidly through the deserted side streets.

  Shooting a penetrating glance down at her dazed profile, he asked, “Which street?”

  He interpreted her hand signals with unerring accuracy until at the opportune moment, he reduced their speed to that of a cruising car and looked down into her closed features.

  “This is it.” She grudgingly flared out an arm.

  Bringing them to a standstill, Connor slowly released her. A feeling of reluctance took him by surprise and, for a moment, time stood still, until he stirred and broke the spell. Jerking his chin up, being abrupt to the point of rudeness, he said, “Goodbye, and be more careful.” In a gusting vortex which kicked dirt up from the sidewalk, he vanished.

  Chapter 2

  Fighting the prickling resentment, Rebekah almost muttered ‘overbearing leech’, but thought better of it. It irritated her that he gave so little away. He called the evening invasion ‘promenade’. The group had worked out that sunset was a siren call to them – cold ones, immortals, undead, nightwalkers, vampires – call them whatever worked, but she had hoped to find out more. But, maybe there is no more.

  The numbing cold of wind-chill had left her arms feeling leaden. Her head still spun from the fast-forward propulsion which had blended the images of London into the whisking colors of a spinning top. Even though the biting breeze buffeting her body numbed her thoughts, it hadn’t scattered all her senses. Rebekah looked up and down the deserted street, listening for anything out of place. The anxious moment of standing on the uneven paving slabs stretched into one of full-blown, immobilizing fear. What happens now? Has he really gone?

  Wrapping her arms around her ribcage, she tucked her chin down and powered her way down the street. The thirty minutes it took her to scurry along the sidewalk, hugging the straggling hedge boundaries of the front gardens and listening, left her lungs burning from sucking in cold air. Like a rabbit caught out in the open, she stopped suddenly, held her breath and scanned the shadows.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat, and darted sideways up the steps of a Victorian terraced house.

  Built in an era when houses were constructed entirely of brick, the thick walls of the safe house provided a feeling of protection. The grime on the windows and peeling paintwork fostered an air of neglect, and overgrown paving slabs out front made it appear as deserted as every other house in the terrace. The dwelling represented a place to sleep and store supplies ready for transportati
on to the eco-town. Situated south of the River Thames, and away from the hub of the vampire community, it served as a refuge for humans, provided they kept quiet. Until now.

  Once inside, she welcomed the cool embrace of the dark hallway. When the heavy door closed, it felt like diving underwater; it dampened all sound except for the palpitations inside her chest. She stood motionless while her eyes adjusted to the gloom, holding her breath and listening until the tendrils of hope evaporated on a sigh. I’m alone.

  Panic clawed at her chest, and she refused to let it win. Keep calm, it’s not as though I don’t know what to do. Handling an ‘emergency’ formed a big part of ‘forage’ training. I have to prove I can be trusted if I want to visit London again. Using slow steadying breaths, she took back control of her body and walked forward.

  Cobwebs hung from the high ceilings and the empty lightbulb socket dangling from the elaborate Victorian plaster rose taunted her. Along one wall, a succession of brass-framed mirrors captured any stray beams of early evening light and nurtured them. It’s a pathetic attempt at an early warning system, but they do have reflections, and we’ll take anything we can get. Trying to gather intelligence about the enemy felt like an impossible task. Some of them moved faster than others, some appeared stronger, and they were out there twenty-four seven. We don’t have much to go on.

  Her own gray reflection was a wraithlike companion which, strangely, offered comfort.

  At this moment, she should have been hanging on to Uncle Harry as they hurtled through the streets on a motorcycle. It was not the most practical option, but riding a fast motorcycle drew less attention than driving a car. Although vampires could move faster than any motorized vehicle, they had been seen riding motorcycles, apparently for amusement.

  What a mess. Careful not to stray from the thick carpet which ran up the middle of the polished wooden floor like the stripe along a badger’s back, she made her way along the hallway and through to the gloomy kitchen. A footfall on bare boards would echo through the house. I think today’s list of stupid mistakes is quite long enough.

  Rebekah took a plastic cup from the silicone mat covering the stainless-steel drainer and dipped it into a basin filled with water. She drank it down in one, grateful to wash away the sandpaper dryness from her throat, at last. A length of plastic tubing snaked from the faucet, lying like a serpent in the bottom of the basin. She turned the faucet on, and watched the current tumble in lazy rolling waves, barely stirring the surface as the water level replenished. No splashing allowed.

  Automatically, she washed down two vitamin D tablets, and chewed on a glazed, odor-free spinach and sesame seed energy bar. She moved slowly through to the large sitting room where neglected upholstered chairs and a couch sulked in the cold shadows. Whispering and hiding in the dark spaces below the house were the harsh realities of life for humans out in the field. But, having tasted freedom of a sort, she would find it hard to bear the confinement of their subterranean eco-town, if that was the consequence of her foolishness today.

  A wave of irritation hit her, and recalling the doctor’s probing gray stare filled her with anxiety.

  Will Uncle Harry ever trust me again? At least I’m safe, for now. She pulled open the hinged hatch-door in the floor and gripped the warm wood. As she descended the steps into the basement the cool air chilled the sweat on her brow. She grimaced. Not as calm as I thought.

  Passing her hormone test had been as liberating as getting her driver’s license in the old world might have been. Waiting for her estrogen levels to stabilize to enable her to visit London, and to feel like a grown-up at last, had been a big deal. Harry was good, but even he couldn’t invent a spray which suppressed the stink of rampant teenage pheromones.

  The heavy weight of dread settled in her stomach as she pulled the hatch closed behind her, wincing at the squeak of the rubber edges. Leaving the eco-town also put distance between her and Douglas, Uncle Harry’s right hand man. He was fifteen years older than she was, and the glint in his eyes when he looked at her chilled her to the core. Douglas, wearing an avid expression on his pale flaccid features, seemed lurk in the corners of the communal caverns every time she walked in. She was being stalked, and her turning twenty-one was the reason.

  Rebekah frowned and tried to push him from her mind. Douglas can’t force me to marry him; this isn’t the Dark Ages. She ignored the little voice inside which disagreed. In many ways, that’s exactly what it was. With every passing day, he inhabited her nightmares more and more. She knew the theory of how men and women made love, and had even, as those desires emerged, come to know her own body, but just the thought of his hands on her made her shudder.

  Crossing to a sagging canvas bed, she laid out flat and stared at the foam-padded underside of the thick oak floorboards overhead. Getting home remained her only option.

  Her spine stiffened with determination. All I have to do is follow protocol. If she lowered her chin, she could make out the dark smudge of the pane of dirty glass in the sidewalk level skylight. As soon as dawn arrives, I’ll make my own way to Station Four.

  The humans called their habitat ‘Station Four’ out of bravado, not wanting to believe they were alone in those early post-pandemic days. The collapse of human communications systems plunged them back to Prehistoric times, in terms of making contact with others. Their scouting parties had turned up only one other eco-community, about thirty miles away and, after so long, it seemed unlikely any future discoveries would make four an appropriate number.

  The eco-town had been excavated beneath the North Downs in Kent, but it was close enough to London to make the city accessible. The entrance to the labyrinth of subterranean caverns was by way of a tunnel dug into the undulations of a Kentish hillside. Disguised as an eroded fissure, the opening was practically invisible. Unless they do a grid search. The last one of those was about five years ago. We were feeling safe, until I messed up.

  So, her plan was to move out, using the emergency route which skirted around the vampire clusters, and pray. The beta-blocker should work long enough to get me through the worst. But, it was all down to fate. Okay girl, but first, sleep. No telling when I’ll get to do that again.

  She closed her eyes and when fitful sleep rolled in, Douglas’ face emerged through the tumbling black clouds. Her features pinched tight as the nightmare unfolded and she surrendered to its embrace. Douglas’ small eyes burned in a bullish face, the sneer on his mouth slack with an expression she had glimpsed only the other day. A flush stained his cheeks, and she shivered, knowing it was arousal.

  As Douglas’ face closed in, and she turned her head away on the thin pillow, the heavy blanket feeling like lead weights holding her body down, the eyes staring at her melted to cool gray, and the chiseled features became those of the vampire doctor. She shivered again, but the tingle drifting over her skin felt like an awakening.

  Rebekah woke with a jolt, struggling to breathe in the dark. Her first thought was of the doctor and the urge to escape was overwhelming. Damp heat chilled her flesh and her pulse throbbed in time with her sluggish heartbeat. She felt different, and it scared her. Pushing back the blanket and dropping her hand down, she brushed her fingers across the floor, closing them around the small plastic bottle containing her last beta-blocker. It was meant for the morning, but her heartbeat pounding in her ears sounded so loud she feared the worst. If I save it, I might not be alive in the morning. She felt as though every vampire on the planet must be able to hear her thundering pulse. Swallowing the tablet down with a mouthful of water, she lay back on the mattress. After staring into the blackness for endless seconds, she forced her eyes to close once more, and, this time, Douglas stayed away.

  Chapter 3

  After Doctor Connor left the girl standing open-mouthed on the sidewalk, he headed out across West London. The autumn sky darkened as rapidly as his mood. This time of year, dusk did not so much creep up upon you as crash down like a blackout curtain. He did the same inside his own mind.
Forget you found her. Having a human pet was forbidden in these times of shortage, and Connor had never wanted to indulge the urge, even when humans were plentiful.

  He set a course for the distant sweeping arc of floodlights; a glittering halo around the complex of Human Farm Factory Eight. The blood yield fed the members of the London Hive, also numbered eight of the ten hives spread throughout England.

  How many hives, with their human farm factories, crop production programs, and hospitals, were scattered throughout Europe, America, and the rest of the world, Connor could not even begin to guess at. He had experienced over eighty years of feeding only on humans who, in his view, deserved their fate. The last fifteen years of human factory farming since the ‘rise’, still made him uncomfortable.

  A human didn’t stand a chance when pitched against a vampire; the label given to their distant cousins still remained the best fit.

  Connor’s stride faltered.

  At least, before the balance of power shifted, most of mankind lived life blissfully ignorant of the horror lurking in the shadows. Now, each and every one suffered the same fate. Reducing humans to a state where they see death as a release is wrong.

  He gritted his teeth and moved rapidly on until the buildings of London gave way to an impressive expanse of rolling green pasture. The lush water-soaked grass appeared oily and black in the moonlight, but Connor knew that on sunny days the view would be picture-postcard perfect, were it not for the hulking gray rectangles of the rows of human siphoning sheds.

  His appraising glance took in the vista of the complex and its regimented construction of three perimeter fences with dead spaces of containment in between. Each chain-linked metal barrier was over a dozen feet tall. Razor wire threaded its way along the top edge, its teeth glinting with malice even in the subdued moonlight. Connor knew its bite looked even more spiteful when the sunlight picked out the barbs and they said, ‘Try me’.