by Celia Kyle
Knight Protectors: Book Two
Big Bad Vamp
Celia Kyle
January 2013
Published by Summerhouse Publishing. Copyright, Celia Kyle. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Editor: Chris Stout | Cover Artist: Celia Kyle
Chapter One
“Vamp-ouston, we have a problem.” Tory kept her voice serious and calm. Because, hey, this whole deal was serious.
“What?” Her not-as-smart-but-still-cool BFF, Wren, sounded totally baffled, and Tory couldn’t blame her.
“Vamp-ouston? You know, like Houston, but with fangs and stuff.” Dude, it totally made sense. Especially since Wren was currently living with her long-term (as in forever) fangy boy-toy in a mansion filled with other fang bearing peeps.
Were vamps peeps though? ‘Cause peeps didn’t usually do the whole “never die, drink blood” thing. Huh. Something to ponder another day. She was too busy dealing with her impending capture-torture-death deal.
“Tory?”
“Shh! Is this a secure line? You can’t say my name! You can’t lead them to me. Big Brother could be listening.” Did Wren not remember all of their studying of the “In Case Tory is Caught Digitally Visiting Others Illegally” plans?
“Okaaayyy.” Wren drew out the word. “Person who is not Tory, what are you talking about?”
After Tory saved herself, she was gonna chop her friend into itty-bitty pieces and serve her to the vamps. Wren tartar.
“The thing about it is…” How did one admit to seriously-what-the-fuck fucking up?
“Person who is not Tory, what the hell is going on?” Wren growled. She’d been doing that a lot since shacking up with that vampire.
Tory took a deep breath, searching for a peace that had been evading her since this morning. Of course, that time frame sorta coincided with a serious attack on her system, which she ended up tracing back to a recent victim of her “digital visitation”. Problem was, her breach of their system was still in progress. For some reason, even super-villain-bringer-downers like her had web speed problems just like everyone else in the world. The data dump of the servers was taking forevah.
“Remember Hyde Pinxton? The creep-tastic guy that, like, tried to hurt you and Griffin and stuff?”
A moan came across the line. “What’d you do?”
“Hypothetically…” Tory nibbled her lower lip. There was no hypothetical about it. Hyde Pinxton had done something super bad to Wren’s boyfriend Griffin, nearly killing him and freaking out Wren, and that kinda pissed Tory off. Oh, she hadn’t gotten the details on what went down since it was all “Protector business”, but there was no hiding the super-hate that went around when Pinxton was mentioned.
She took a deep breath and blurted out her sins. “I poked around the ‘net, redistributed money, and then ripped data from more than a handful of servers for posterity’s sake. If the info was connected to Pinxton, it got magically deleted. Like magically delicious Lucky Charms, but not. Because that doesn’t make a whole lotta sense.” She faked a laugh. “Cool, huh?”
The line went silent. Tory couldn’t even hear her BFF breathe, and then a soft whisper met her. “What?”
“I only looked at some of it as I was downloading. I was going for quantity, you know? Wren, this is some holy-shit shit. Like, things with wings, if you know what I mean. And I think you know what I’m talking about. I have no doubt that his guys are going to hunt me down. Soon. I’m watching them work, and they’ve gotten as far as Tokyo. I’ve got maybe fifteen minutes and then I’m a rabbit.”
Tory didn’t doubt that Wren had been hiding things since she’d gotten tangled up with the vamps and become a fang banger. She didn’t begrudge the secrecy. Really. Mostly. But her first foray into Pinxton’s files, the ones that were buried behind more encryption and digital walls than the freakin’ Central Intelligence Agency (she’d wanted to know who’d killed Kennedy, sue her), revealed some things that meant super shitty stuff for Wren. Dead, but not a vamp, kind of stuff.
“Oh, God, Tory.” The phone clattered, and she assumed Wren had dropped her cell.
Tory picked up talking as soon as her friend returned. “I’m fine. I’m grabbing some wings at the place off Whitehall, and then I’m out for a while.” What she actually meant was that she was heading to Central City Bank on the other side of town to make a withdrawal. Specifically, one of her bug-out bags she had hidden in a safety deposit box. It held clothes, cash, a couple of prepaid cell phones and false identification. Hell, she’d be using fake ID’s just to get into the vault.
“Wait, Tory. No…don’t. I’ll send one of the Protectors to get you. We can keep you safe. Why can’t you just, pull the plug or something? They can’t find you if you’re not connected to the internet, right? Doesn’t it work that way?” Wren pleaded with her, but a peek at her computer revealed that the fuckers had pinged her in Venice. Damn it.
“No can do. Download isn’t done just yet.” She nibbled her lip, watching the little progress bar grow and grow. “I’ll get the files to you as soon as I can. They mention some shit about you guys, but I have to beat feet, hon.” Phone cradled between her ear and shoulder, Tory grabbed her bag, stuffing in what she’d need for her escape.
She glanced at the progress bar and figured she’d been done in another five seconds. A few quick keystrokes and she had her system counting down to destruction as a cute little Care Bear danced across the screen. Hell, when she’d created the whole “no one was ever here” bit of pyrotechnics, the bear countdown had sounded cute. Now, she just wanted to punch the stuffed animal in its suckhole.
“Tory…”
Download finally done, Tory snatched the storage card and popped it into its specially designed case. Then she dashed to the door. “Love you. And as soon as I know how bad I’ve fucked myself sans dildo, I’ll get in touch.”
“Tory…”
“Did I mention I love you?” Tory didn’t wait for her friend’s response. The phone, like so many others, was a burner. She dropped it into her “buh-bye” can and pressed the pretty pink button on top. In moments, the stench of burning plastic floated from the container, and she strode toward the door.
She had fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds and her computer would be gone. And maybe her building. She owned the whole thing, so that wasn’t a ginormous deal, but she hadn’t totally researched the whole bomb building thing well. The boom would either be enough to kill just her computer…or the whole warehouse.
She should have read more. Hell, she would have, but at the time, learning Sumerian seemed more appealing.
She thumped down the metal stairs, counting down in her head. Hitting the concrete, she strode toward her Vespa and climbed on, started it, and raced into the street.
Three… Two…
The rolling thunder of the explosion almost sent her careening into a nearby car.
Note to self…less boom next time.
* * *
Liam, vampire Knight Protector, loved Wren in a very platonic, not touching her with his dick, way. But right now, he’d happily rip out her throat. He hadn’t had his breakfast yet (Jack and Coke with a side of toast). So how could she ex
pect him to think and listen at the same time?
“You guys don’t understand.” The little woman growled and bared her teeth. It would have had a greater effect if she had fangs and not human teeth.
Carac, the voice of reason and the Knight Protector’s Sovereign, tried to soothe Wren. “Everything will be fine, Wren. Besides, this is a human matter and you know our laws.”
Laws. Right. Like, the law that said Griffin should have been killed for interfering in Wrens’ death after being attacked by pixies. Then there was the law that forbade bonding with the woman.
Those laws.
“No. She won’t. Were you listening? She’s electronically destroyed the Pixie King and found files that pertain to Atlanta’s Ring of Knight Protectors. Are you willing to endanger the lives of your vamps because it’s a human who’s done some of your dirty work?” The small human pushed to her feet and pointed a finger at Carac. “You’ve been putting her off for weeks, not willing to discuss Changing her because you’re a snooty, holier than though, stuck-up ass.”
Liam smiled, though he was sure that Carac would have gladly ripped Wren’s head off for her words.
It rang of truth though. Wren had asked Carac to Change Tory. As far as Liam knew, the man hadn’t gotten around to talking to Wren’s human friend. The Master vampire was a bit of a snob.
Liam wondered when Griffin would come and collect his wayward Fire.
Fire. Part of him wished he had one of those lovelies, a woman made just for him, someone who’d bring his heart back to life with her warmth and love. Ah, who was he kidding? He was a jaded fucker who had a love of liquor and getting bloody.
Wren wasn’t done. “Had you taken care of this when I asked, she’d be under the Ring’s protection while she fucked the King over.” Brave woman. “Instead, she’s running from fucking evil pixies on her own. Hell, it could be more than just pixies. You know what the King said when he attacked Griffin and me. He hinted at others gunning for us. And now they’re after Tory.” The woman glanced at her watch, body vibrating. “It’s been two hours, Carac. We need to get our poop in a group, and then jump on white horses to save her.”
Maybe listening to Wren was a bit better than breakfast. He hadn’t had this much fun in forever.
Poop in a group… Yeah, they probably did need to get their shit together.
Carac was quiet for several heartbeats, his eyes focused on Wren, and the woman didn’t even squirm under his intense gaze. The room remained quiet, his fellow Protector’s not even breathing as they waited to see if Griffin’s Fire would become breakfast.
“I see.” Well, that’d been anti-climactic. Oh, wait, Carac wasn’t done. “Do you know where Victoria is right now?”
Ah, now Liam remembered. Little Tory was actually Victoria. And their Sovereign hated nicknames with a passion. Something he actually agreed with. A parent gifted a child with a name, and it was disrespectful to call a person by any other moniker.
“She’s heading to Central City Bank off Peachtree. Eventually. I can’t remember the details of this particular plan beyond the fact that she’ll pick up a bug-out bag thingie there and then grab a car at U-Store-It. I’m just not sure which one.” Wren nibbled her lower lip.
Yes, this was undeniably better than breakfast and Liam was wondering what he’d missed before coming into the room. Specifically, how the little human had angered the Pixie King. He understood hacking as a broad idea, but he questioned the details.
“This particular plan?”
Liam’s attention returned to Carac, and he noticed the Sovereign’s eye twitching.
“Well, she kinda sorta has a few dozen plans on getting out of the city.” Quiet descended. The Protectors had something similar. Only they limited escape routes to five. Apparently little Victoria was hugely paranoid. “Fine,” Wren huffed. “She has fifty-two and a half.”
Liam had to bust in then. This was getting too good not to participate. “Fifty-two and a half?” He pushed away from the wall and flopped into a chair across from the irate woman.
“Well, fifty-two complete routes and the half is more of a ‘run around in a circle and scream because she’s totally fucked in a bad way’ plan. Somehow it involves the Goodyear blimp and Jolly Ranchers.” The woman grimaced, and he couldn’t restrain his wide smile.
He didn’t know Victoria, but he liked her already. “And you’re sure that she’s headed to the bank? Not the Goodyear blimp with a stop off for candy on the way?”
Wren narrowed her eyes. “No. If she was hijacking the blimp, she would have called and said that the sky was falling and that she was going to the Bank of America Plaza so she was as close to the sky as she could be when it came crashing down.”
Liam laughed out loud, and he only quieted when everyone’s gaze had centered on him. “What? That was funny.”
Carac’s attention shifted from Liam and back to Wren. “Liam will go get your friend.”
Wren’s eyes lit up, and a wide smile burst across her features. “Thank you!” Turning to Liam, she was all business. “She’s five-five with purple hair—”
“Purple?” He sputtered.
“Right. Purple. And her eyes will match. She’s big on color coordination.”
* * *
Tory would not illegally park. She would walk, not run, into the bank. Hell, she’d even smile at the stupid clerk who took for-fucking-ever to review her information before leading her into a segregated cubby with her big-assed safety deposit box.
Hidden from view, she went into action, tugging her pre-packed bag from the box. A quick check of the contents revealed what she’d expected. Hey, a person couldn’t be too careful in current times. There was no telling if someone poked in her stuff and removed a little somethin’ somethin’.
Yes, she was a conspiracy theorist at heart.
Seeing that her pack was as she’d left it, she replaced the bag with the one she brought from her apartment, and then hefted the new bundle onto her shoulder. She pushed the curtain aside, retraced her steps, and then strolled into the common area of the bank.
She had to be calm and cool. Sort of a “nothing to see here, move along” attitude. She was just another customer in the bank walking out with a good hunk of cash and illegal identification. Nothing new or interesting.
Fifteen feet into the lobby. She kept her pace slow, gaze constantly scanning her surroundings as she headed to freedom. A guy speaking with a teller looked hinky, but in a “I’m a mob boss” sort of way, not the “I’m a winged creature trying to destroy your BFF” kind of thing.
She let her attention drift past him, still searching out anyone who watched her too closely. Of course, the purple hair thing always drew attention, but she was hunting people who looked at her with something other than a what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-her expression.
Oh, hey, look, she was only ten feet from the front door. Score! A security guard stood to the side, thumbs hooked on his belt, his bored expression encompassing the lobby. Yeah, she didn’t envy that guy.
With a small smile and nod, she passed through the revolving door. She resisted the urge to run super-fast round and round and then hold onto the handle as it swung her in circles. Because, really? Those things had no other purpose than to amuse semi-grown-ups.
Back in the fresh air, she turned right instead of left, accepting the loss of her Vespa. It was registered in her real name, and there was no way she wanted to be caught riding “Tory Price’s” scooter while she walked around as “Marsha”. She’d resisted the urge to give herself Brady as her last name. Barely.
Down three blocks and then over another five, she ducked into an alley and pulled her hair back into a bun then stuffed it all beneath a cap. Next, she slipped off her jacket and flipped it inside out, changing the color from blue to black in seconds. She tugged her skirt down so that the hem rested just above her knees and kicked her combat boots free, replacing them with cute ballet flats. Stepping back onto the sidewalk, she continued her journey an
d, five minutes later, she arrived at U-Store-It.
Ten more minutes and she’d be driving her lovely, unassuming, beige Camry out of the lot and then onto hiding venue number one. There were five with this plan. She just needed enough time to sort through everything she’d gathered and figure out how she could: 1) blackmail Hyde Pinxton into leaving her alone and 2) figure out what the hell the super villain was trying to do to Wren and her blood-drinking friends so she could foil his dastardly plot.
Tory unlocked her unit and rolled up the top, happy to see that the car had remained untouched as it waited for one of her world-class fuckups. She reached down to tug at the car cover she’d placed over the vehicle to keep it dust-free. Then a twinkling sparkle caught her eye.
Releasing the fabric, she rose. Her focus zeroed in on the shower of glitter that seemed to encompass the opening of the storage unit. It swirled and twirled, spinning into a tight circle and then parting to reveal…a man. Okay, man-ish. Because the guy standing before her had reflective, fluttering wings. Really. Wings. Which reminded her of the wing-esque stuff she’d seen and read in Pinxton’s files.
Further observation revealed pointed, needle-like teeth, glowing eyes and hair so bright red that she wondered where he’d purchased his dye. She totally wanted some. She’d tried for that hue before and hadn’t been able to get there…
“Miss Price.” The deep voice grated over her nerves, scratching her veins with invisible claws. “I believe you have a few things that belong to me.”
“Did you say Price? No, I’m Marsha. Marsha Bradyman.” She had to stick to the plan. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”
At least, she hoped so. Because based on observation, and what she’d gotten from the files she’d reviewed, she might be looking at the no good, very bad, super evil flying Pixie King himself.
“Cute, Miss Price.” The winged wanker took a step toward her, and she scooted deeper into the storage unit. “You are Victoria Lynn Price, Vicky Lynn to your parents.” The pixie raised a single brow. “Quaint.” Another step. “You are intelligent, but scattered, and have friends who have yet to discover that some of their phones and portions of their home have been bugged.”