Lies in Blood

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Lies in Blood Page 49

by A. M. Hudson

I turned and walked away then, taking the stairs to the second floor, back to my life, leaving the past, and the ring, behind on the windowsill where David had. I wasn’t sure anymore what tomorrow would bring, or if I’d ever talk to him again the way we had on the stairs just now, but one thing I did know was that his absence from my life would no longer make or break me. I didn’t need him anymore to know who I was. I didn’t need him anymore to be okay. I was finally free. Finally, just me.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I wouldn’t know where to begin to thank everyone that helped make this novel possible. From the earliest days of dedicated readers, to those who’ve joined only recently, and to those I’ve spoken with so often we now consider ourselves friends, you are all contributors to this story. Some of you in more ways than you know.

  But many, many thanks must go to the tireless efforts of my Facebook Beta Team, who have read draft after draft, spotting things that didn’t make sense and discussing each section at length, more often than not giving me ideas or prompting further chapters, even major elaborations on scenes I might have left alone. There are way too many names to list here, but you all know who you are, and I hold you all very dear to my heart.

  I must also thank my family—kids and husband, for their constant support. To Jake, my eldest son, who is always herding the little ones out of the room, yelling, “Mummy’s writing. Leave her alone!” you’re a great kid, Jake. And despite my daily absence from my own head, often not even hearing what you’ve had to say, I am very proud of the way you’re turning out.

  And to my husband, Mike, you’re a warrior. You suffer the grind of daily blue-collar so I can bring the world these great stories, and it’s finally paying off. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  In fact, I couldn’t have done it without the support and love of everyone I chat to online, in the supermarket, or even those who’ve just sent me a quick message or word of encouragement.

  This book is dedicated to all of you.

  Look out for the final book in the Dark Secrets series. . .

  Echoes & Silence

  Coming in 2014

  Before you read this, I must first warn you: it contains explicit content that may disturb some readers. Not for readers under 15 years. I will also warn you that anyone totally in love with David may find his vampire past a little disturbing. But please keep in mind that this is a vampire without any human compassion at all.

  David Journals: Emily

  Committing to a teenage human life meant fulfilling dull obligations, such as homework and extracurricular activities. And often, that left little time for food. So when Emily arrived at my apartment, unannounced, and decided to “hang out” for the afternoon, the vampire in me instinctively began to lure her. His intention was not to kill, maybe just to taste—just a little, but the law-abiding citizen I’d always prided myself on being knew that was a lie.

  One taste of her and she was dead.

  “David, what are you doing?” Emily brushed my hand down, shrugging away to focus on that screen again. And the fight in her only burned the hunger in me, making it roar with fury.

  “I want to taste you.”

  “Well, stop it,” she said, but made her neck longer as my tongue drew circles over her salty flesh. “My mum says I have to be home at six, and if she sees a hickey, she’ll send my dad around after you when he gets back next week.”

  “Easy,” I whispered, my breath coming back icy off her warmth. “Don’t tell them it was me.”

  “Who will I say it was?” She turned slightly. “She knows I’m with you this afternoon.”

  “What?” My blood ran cold—desire for the lustful kill dying, replaced by the kind of kill driven by anger; I stood tall to get away from her.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Emily, I’ve warned you about this.” I rubbed my head savagely. This had to be the most annoying girl on the planet. Why on earth had I let her live this long?

  But as the question entered my mind, the voice of my uncle came to answer it, soaking me with a sudden and cold dose of common sense; “We do not feed on the community in which we reside.”

  “Are you—” The girl looked back at me, turning in the chair so her legs sat slightly apart, and I could smell her—almost taste her. “Are you mad with me?”

  “Furious, Emily.” I walked over and spun the chair around, cupping the sides, leaning right down to make my voice as clear as day. “When we first started hanging out, you were told it was on the condition no one knew.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing!” I pushed the chair back; it rolled a centimeter and hit the edge of my desk with a thud, startling the girl. “Don’t you understand what could happen, Emily? If—”

  “I get it.” She stood up, breaking to tears. “You don’t want to be seen with a nobody—don’t want anyone to think, for one second, that you might have feelings for me.”

  “Everyone already knows we hang out. It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I looked her square in the eye, almost considering a full confession. But there wasn’t enough in her to like long term. If I told her my true nature, she’d follow me around everywhere like a lost puppy for the next year and a half of my leave—probably expecting me turn her. “Never mind. Just sit down and finish your homework.”

  She sat down quietly, but instead of doing as she was told, stared at the pages—tears dripping onto my desk intermittently in the most annoying, pathetic sound.

  “If you’re going to keep that up, you can leave, Emily. The last thing I need right now is a sobbing teenager.”

  She sobbed harder.

  “Argh!” I ripped her away from the desk again, spinning the chair to face me. “Why are you crying? Do you have any idea how annoying that is?”

  “I—” She snivelled, wiping snot on her wrist. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” I cringed, my lip turning in disgust at this mortal race. “Just shut up,” I said, but as I turned away to sit on the couch and finish my book, the timid, sweet Emily I’d come to enjoy stood up, her face contorted into an ugly twist.

  “I’m tired of you talking to me like that all the time,” she screeched.

  I laughed, shaking my head as I sat and crossed my ankle over my knee. “Look at that; little Emily’s trying out her big girl voice.”

  “Why do you do that to me?” she whimpered. “You know I’ve been through enough this year, David. I thought you were my friend.”

  “Friend?” I looked up from my book. “Emily, I put up with you because Mr Thompson asked me to.”

  She didn’t know that. I’d spared her the truth of our supposed friendship until now, and as she heard it for the first time, her tiny human heart broke. “Oh, my God.” She covered her mouth, her whole face streaked with tears. “I’m so . . . I’m so stupid.”

  “Emily, wait.” I put my book down beside me, but the girl pulled the door to my apartment open and left, without permission.

  I sighed, shaking my head. It was a relief, if anything, that she was finally gone. She’d been on my nerves enough lately that this was the third time I’d planned to eat her. “Could’ve at least closed the door, Emily,” I muttered under my breath, turning my eyes back to my book.

  The gate in the yard swung closed, and the quick footsteps of Emily retreated down the quiet street. It was getting dark outside, and she’d walked home in the dusk shadows often enough to prove she was capable of making it without being mugged or raped, but a small pang of worry rose in my gut. I laid a hand to it and focused on my book.

  Grey wolves circled their kill, I read, and Emily’s tear-streaked face came to mind. The girl’s hands came out to shield her body as these beasts of the night lunged forward, their powerful jaws closing down first on her ankle and fingers, and with one shake of the Alpha’s head, her dreams came away—the very tool she used to create the images she’d brought to life torn from her bones.

 
I lowered the book and looked at the clock. She always called to say she’d made it home. I wondered if she would this time.

  But of course she would. She always did. Even if she was upset with me.

  The hands on the clock moved slowly, the breeze coming in through my open door cooling the room as the sun moved lower and lower in the sky.

  Fifteen minutes. She always called within fifteen minutes.

  I reached into my pocket and checked my phone. No calls. She must have been really pissed.

  A small smile settled around my lips. She was such a sensitive, almost sweet little thing, really. And now that I’d finally ridded myself of her presence, a small part of me regretted that. In a lot of ways, she was annoying and chatty, but she was also a good girl—never spoke ill or out of turn, always did as she was told. Well—I thought about our argument—until today. What had sparked that? Why had she suddenly decided I was the bad guy?

  I checked my phone again. Still no calls.

  Twenty minutes gone by—each one dipping the world further into darkness. I was sure she made it home safely, but she knew damn well I’d be waiting for her call, which meant she was trying to torment me by not calling—probably trying to force me to realise I care about her.

  I laughed to myself, going back to my book. Tough luck, girl. Not gonna happen.

  Something about the way her blood spilled across my hands as I lifted her lifeless body stirred a restless voice within, I read, feeling my hunger roil. Every ounce of purity and innocence in this being seemed to have bled out of her soul as she died, and it wasn’t enough for me just to feel it on my skin. I wanted it in me—wanted to breathe this innocence, steal it—destroy it, and then weep it out over her dead body.

  I lowered the book again and looked at my phone. “God damn it, Emily.” I knew she was okay, and that was worst part. If she’d been beaten and killed in alley, I could handle that. But she was being defiant. She was trying to upset me—probably thinking right now that I was worrying. Stupid bitch.

  I stood up and headed for the door. There was one surefire way to make sure she never disobeyed me again.

  The blues and whites of my old baseball team jacket had recently been swapped for the reds and dark blues of the football team. When Emily peered out her second floor window onto the dark, quiet street, she’d know instantly that it was me and, judging from her past reactions when I wore this jacket, merriment would be her first reaction. Not the fear she should rightly feel.

  I gently flicked another stone at the glass, using a hell of a lot more care than I would’ve done had I been human. One misdirected toss and that glass would smash all over her bedroom floor, and probably all over her, too.

  The blinds went up and the window followed, a confused Emily leaning out into the night a second later. She frowned, her eyes narrowing to search the darkness.

  Realising she was human, suffering the human disadvantages, I stepped into the white glow of streetlight just near her mom’s burgundy sedan. “Hey,” I whispered, waving up at her.

  She flicked her hair back, trying to appear indifferent. But she was glad to see me. “What’re you doing here, David? I have nothing to say to you.”

  “I came to apologise,” I lied. “Can I come up?”

  “Um—” After glancing over her shoulder, she looked back down at me and curled her fingertips inward. “Quick. Before my mom sees you.”

  I ran toward the trellis attached to the gutter, making it look as if I climbed it, taking a swift leap instead and grabbing her windowsill. She reached out and cupped my wrist, pulling to help me in. And we landed in a heap on the floor, Emily forgetting she was mad for a second long enough to laugh at me.

  “Where’s your mom?” I asked, searching the house with keen ears.

  “She’s watching TV.”

  “And your dad?”

  “Away on business, remember?” she said, and the mood changed. She had told me that, but I hadn’t been listening.

  “Right. Sorry.”

  “You never listen to me.” She stood up.

  I stayed on the floor for a second, lowering my head remorsefully. “I just forgot, Em.”

  “You seem to forget a lot of what I tell you.”

  “Not always.” I flashed my irresistible grin.

  Her shoulders sunk. She sat down on her bed and rested both hands on her knees. It surprised me a little to see red sheets under her—a much sexier and more mature kind of setting than I’d imagined for this young girl. But when I looked up on her wall to the triangle flag behind the shelf of stuffed teddies and books, I was no longer surprised. The sheets weren't sexy; they matched the school’s team quilt she’d had made. And that made her seem rather pathetic and, at the same time, made the reason I came here harder to bear. How was I going to get it up if I had to feel the gazes of her stuffed animals over my shoulder—watching on as I defile her and steal her innocence?

  I may not have a conscience to answer to, but the dark, shiny eyes of those stuffed toys might be enough to sway my decision.

  On the back of her door, as I got to my feet and checked to see if there was a lock, I noticed a hook with a dozen or so handbags and, on top of them all, Mr Thompson's brown coat—the one he wrapped around her the day she was nearly raped. “You still have the coat.”

  She jumped up and hid it under the bags. “I just forgot to give it back.”

  I turned away and winced, shaking my head. That girl’s crush on Mr T went beyond obsession. “I can return it for you, if you like?”

  “No. It’s fine. I’ll do it.”

  A chime of gentle laughter rang through the house then, and I suddenly located her mother downstairs, pinpointing her brainwaves and reading them quickly. She was settled in for a while. I had at least twenty minutes before I needed to make myself scarce.

  I walked slowly around Emily’s room, touching trinkets and hairbrushes, pretending to check my reflection in the mirror above the small brass dresser, gauging the distance from her bed to the back of her door instead, just in case I needed to chase her. The bed sat right behind the door, room only enough to open it inward. If she tried to run, she wouldn't make it far before I grabbed her. But, as long as she didn’t anger me, she wouldn't have need to run. I didn’t come here to eat her, after all, just . . . bind her.

  “So?” she said, taking a seat on the end of her bed. “What did you come here for?”

  “To tell you you’re right,” I said, moving over quickly and taking to one knee, cradling her face in the cup of my palm. And she fell for it. All her romance-novel dreams were coming true. All I had to do was just play this game a little longer, and she would feel the full weight of my revenge. “I was mean to you, Emily, and I’m sorry.”

  In her thoughts, she rolled her cheek into my hand, holding it there while we looked into each other’s souls. But experience and heartache taught her well. She averted her eyes, not sure what to say.

  “You know I care for you, Em.” I moved my other hand onto her face, and she melted a little. “I was so worried when you didn’t call.”

  “I know,” she said, and I just wanted to slap her and lick the blood off her lip after. Insubordinate little cow. “I wanted you to suffer, David,” she added, confirming what I just had.

  “Suffer? Why would you be so spiteful, Em? You’re not that kind of girl.”

  “Because . . . I thought, maybe, if you stopped for one second to think how it would be if I wasn’t around, you might appreciate me.”

  “It worked.” I laughed, lowering my brow to hers as if that were true. “I was so worried, Em. Please don’t ever do that again.”

  She smiled, not realising I could see it. “Only if you promise to stop yelling at me all the time.”

  “How ‘bout I do better than that?” I said, standing up. “How ‘bout I make sure you’re never bothered by another nasty thing I do—ever again?”

  She frowned, a little confused about how that could be a positive. “What do you mean?�
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  I rolled my shoulders back, giving her the smile that made her blood run warm. And she was mine. She didn’t even know how badly she wanted it, but the sudden rush of liquid between her thighs as I issued a knowing glare gave me everything I needed. “Lock your door,” I said.

  She didn’t even hesitate, and I waited until her back was turned before I quietly praised this unnatural attraction her kind had to mine. Getting laid was never a challenge.

  The lock clicked into place, but I didn’t give her a chance to turn around. I didn’t want to see her face as I fucked her. It would be enough to make me sick.

  “David?” She gasped my name out as I reached up her skirt and yanked her underwear down to her ankles. “What are you doing?”

  “Shh. I don’t like girls that talk during sex.”

  She nodded, resting her forearm on the door, her head against it. And a few little thoughts sent shivers through her; she was afraid, but the fear in her only fuelled the monster in me. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to leave her alive after I had my way with her.

  “David?” She turned slightly. “What’re you waiting for?”

  I shook it off—the feeling of dread. I couldn’t kill her. I had to stay here—in this town. I wasn’t ready to move on just yet, not after everything I’d been through this year. I just needed a place to call home.

  “David?” She turned around completely.

  I laid my hand to the hollow just below her throat and pressed her spine gently to the door. She’d bleed if I fucked her. Virgins always did. I could control the hunger right now, but could I control it when I caught the scent of her life force?

  “If you’re not ready, David—” She braved the risk of her flesh touching mine, cupping her fingertips around my wrist. “We can wait.”

  “Wait?” I turned my murderous gaze on her; she recoiled, her eyes going wide. There was no turning back now. Either I bound her to me, or I’d be forced kill her for the sake of my own sanity. “We do this now, Emily.”

 

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