by Dannika Dark
“He probably passed out in the van,” Claude grumbled. “My head is spinning. Everything’s spinning.”
Before either Claude or Gem heard anything, Christian picked up the sound of an electric vehicle. But the noise was quickly drowned out by keyboard synthesizers that erased the silence.
Claude stood and squinted at the fast-approaching vehicle. “Is he playing ‘The Final Countdown’ in a cemetery?”
A golf cart weaved around headstones and trampled the plaques on the ground. Wyatt not only had headlights mounted to the vehicle but flashlights taped to the bars that held up the roof.
As soon as the lyrics to the eighties song kicked in, he moved in a snakelike motion toward them. After another reckless minute, he clipped a bench and lost control. Wyatt flew out of the vehicle and rolled across the grass.
“Now that’s a bloody shame,” Christian said with derision.
The golf cart rolled toward them and slowed to a stop.
Wyatt sprang to his feet and wiped the grass from his pants. “I didn’t pick up any vibes in the front. I searched every plot, but they haven’t buried anyone recently.”
Gem put her hands on her hips. “Wyatt Blessing, are you trying to get us arrested?”
Wyatt swaggered up to the cart. “Music and flashing lights distract the dead. If specters are hanging around a cemetery, it means they like the peace and quiet.”
When the chorus kicked in again, Christian approached the vehicle and smashed the radio. “If she’s yelling for help, I won’t be able to hear a fecking thing, you numpty.”
Gem cupped her arms and shivered. “Did you feel that?”
Wyatt leaned against the cart. “It’s not cold, buttercup. But I’m more than happy to lend you my body for heat.”
She reached behind her head and rubbed the back of her neck. “That’s an energy flare. I knew it! But it’s far away.” Gem turned in a circle. “Maybe that direction? Did anyone check the middle?”
“Hop on the Wyatt express.” Wyatt got behind the wheel, and Gem sat next to him. There was a bench on the back that Claude took.
“Don’t you want a ride?” Wyatt offered.
“I’d rather walk.”
“Suit yourself.” With glazed eyes, Wyatt saluted Christian and hit the gas pedal. As soon as he did, Claude flew off the back seat and did a face-plant in the grass.
Christian helped him up. “Let me impart some wisdom on you that’ll save you a lot of grief: never entrust your life to a wanker.” He clapped Claude’s back. “There’s a good lad.”
The crickets were chirping, but they had nothing on Wyatt singing the lyrics to the eighties song, which no longer played on the broken radio. There was no wind or nearby traffic, no airplanes overhead or people. It was one reason Christian kept his little concrete shack in the woods. He had always appreciated a quiet retreat—one far removed from the noisy pollution of city life.
Wyatt put distance between them, his lights shining on trees, headstones, and a skittish raccoon. As Christian shadow walked behind them, he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Wyatt’s cart turned right and headed toward a mausoleum.
“No, not that way. That way,” Gem argued. “Will you let me drive? You’re going to get us killed!”
“We’re in the right place, buttercup.”
When Christian passed the mausoleum, he recognized the structure and realized exactly where they were. This was the cemetery where Raven’s mother was buried. All graveyards looked alike to him, and on his previous visit, he’d hidden himself on top of Raven’s vehicle, ignoring the route. It had also been in the day, and shadows made everything look different.
He searched for familiar markers, trying to retrace his steps. Wyatt’s headlights briefly blinded him before he steered away erratically. After walking in circles, Christian stopped and turned, looking around. It all looked the same. He could read the names on the headstones until he found Raven’s mother, but not without going up to each and every one. Had she come here to talk to her mother? He imagined her passed out on top of the grave. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she might come here, but he sometimes forgot how young Raven was. It often took many decades for a young immortal to let go of their old life and all the people tied to it.
Gem launched out of the cart while it was still moving and landed on her rear. She angrily dusted off her leggings before Claude helped her up. “I lost it, Christian. I can’t feel the flare anymore. Maybe it was someone by the road.”
Claude pulled in a deep breath. “I smell freshly turned soil.” He hurried forward, Christian and Gem jogging behind him.
Raven’s father thought he’d buried her years ago, so Raven had a grave next to her mother. As soon as Christian noticed the fresh sod, he fell to his knees and used his hands to dig. When Claude saw the name on the headstone, he joined in.
“Someone’s definitely down there.” Wyatt parked the cart and stumbled out of the seat. “And judging by that guy’s face, the residents aren’t too thrilled about it.”
Christian didn’t bother asking Wyatt about whatever apparition he was referring to. He just kept digging.
“This is impossible.” Claude sat back, his hands caked in dirt. “It’ll take all night.”
A blue light showered the ground, and they looked over their shoulder. Gem wielded an energy ball between her fingertips. “Let me help. Please, Christian. If she’s running out of air, we don’t have time.”
“Lass, put that away. Do you want to blow a hole through her mother’s coffin?”
“I can do it! A lady’s been teaching me how to control my energy. Stand back and let me show you.”
The two men slowly got up and backed away. Claude looked as white as any ghost that was probably watching.
“It might blow up her headstone. Is that okay?” Gem asked, her voice as innocent as a child’s.
“Aye, that can be replaced. But if your aim isn’t true, you might kill her for sure. If you can’t control it, don’t risk it.”
Gem’s eyebrows drew together as she focused on the light spinning between her fingers. Instead of growing larger like it normally did, it grew tighter and more compact. Wyatt clutched his hat and dove behind the cart. When a few white sparks flickered from the core, Gem raised her arm and hurled the ball at the ground.
The explosive impact knocked everyone off their feet.
Christian stuck his fingers in his ringing ears as he sat up. A charred stench filled the air. Claude waved away the haze of dirt, the lights on the cart illuminating every particle of debris.
Wyatt hurried over and peered into the crater. “Holy Toledo! She blew a hole to China.”
Christian jumped into the pit without looking. Gem had aimed off-center, so the hole wasn’t invading Raven’s mother’s plot. Christian found it easy to sweep the loose dirt aside until he knocked against the coffin.
“Shut your eyes,” he said loudly, hoping Raven could hear him.
Christian punched through the wood before shoving his hand inside and breaking off the top half. He flung it out of the hole, and Wyatt cursed before the lid thumped against the ground.
Nothing could have prepared him for that moment. Though twice buried, Christian had never imagined that Raven would endure the same horror. He sat on the bottom half of the casket and waited. Her eyes were still beneath the closed lids, and when someone shined a flashlight into the coffin, Gem gasped.
“Tell me she’s not dead,” Gem whimpered, shocked by Raven’s purple complexion.
Christian looked at the blood on her tank top by a tear no wider than a dagger. There were also small spatters in another area. She must have put up a hell of a fight before healing herself. He reached out and touched her feverish cheek. Her heartbeat was faint, like a distant drip from a bathroom faucet.
He shook her. “Breathe, Raven. Wake up! You’re not dead.”
Her mouth suddenly opened and made a horrific sound as she pulled in oxygen. Christian watched her chest hea
ve and body arch grotesquely, as if she were some undead creature coming to life. The second gasp was smoother than the first, but her reflexes kicked in and she clawed at thin air.
“Tell her she’s okay,” Gem said between sniffles. “She’s okay, isn’t she?”
Claude slid into the grave behind Christian. “Pull her out of there.”
“Give her a minute,” Christian said, his voice as sharp as a razor’s edge.
“A minute for what?”
Christian looked over his shoulder at the Chitah. “To wake herself up from death. You can’t just jerk a man out of his own coffin.”
“He’s right,” Wyatt said from above. “Boy, does this bring back memories. Doesn’t it, Christian?”
Raven’s skin coloring slowly returned, but the capillaries had burst, giving her a sunburned appearance. She opened her eyes and gaped up as if she couldn’t see the two men crouched on her coffin. Her eyes had hemorrhaged and were bloodshot.
“We’re here, Raven,” he said calmly. “You’re not dead, and you’re not permanently blind. It goes away.”
Christian made a fist when she touched her face. Her knuckles were bloodied and bruised. She must have spent hours trying to punch a hole through the coffin.
“Get me out of here,” Raven croaked. She sat up and reached out blindly until she found Christian’s knees. “How long?”
“No more than a day.”
“A day?” she asked in disbelief.
He knew that feeling. Once the air ran out, time moved differently.
“Who did this,” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Christian helped her to stand and then encased her in his arms as if she might fly away from this world at any moment.
Claude dipped his head into the casket and then stood. “It’s been too long, Christian. I can’t pick up another scent. All that’s left is rage, fear, and sweat.”
Christian felt as if a piece of him had returned. “I found you,” he whispered, nuzzling against her hair. “I won’t let you go.”
Chapter 37
Christian stared into the fireplace. The wood was now ashen and brittle, and deep cracks exposed the intense heat within. Though it wasn’t winter anymore, the mansion held a chill at night that affected the others. He looked over his shoulder at Raven, still asleep in his bed.
More like passed out.
On the drive home, it had taken her ten or fifteen minutes before she could breathe without hyperventilating. Christian remembered the process of getting acclimated to oxygen after resurfacing from the ground the first time he was buried. The second time was in Martha Cleavy’s tomb, but thankfully that one wasn’t airtight. There hadn’t been much room in the back of the van with Christian’s bike inside, so Raven sat in his lap, her face nestled in the crook of his neck as she drank his blood. Nothing was more natural to a Vampire than drinking blood, and Raven had no need to ask. While he had warned her about the dangers of Vampire blood, Christian would always offer his own to ease her suffering.
What came as a surprise was that afterward, Raven snapped out of it and was herself again. Maybe it was Claude constantly asking if she needed anything, but Raven did everything in her power to allay everyone’s fears by cracking jokes and asking about their drinking party. Gem’s worry faded just as quickly as she told the story about the energy ball. Viktor didn’t know about her disappearance or that some of them had left, so she asked them not to mention it when they got home. She wanted to celebrate, and Viktor wouldn’t be able to enjoy his victory if he had to learn about this one minor detail of her getting buried alive.
She had no memory of who put her in the ground or what happened just prior, only that she had last spoken to the club owner. She never mentioned Houdini by name, and Christian didn’t press the subject. At first he thought she might be protecting her Vampire maker, but the more Christian thought about it, he realized that she was protecting him—afraid of what Christian might do.
Once home, Viktor congratulated Raven on the job, invited her for a drink—which she accepted—and apprised her of everything that had transpired since her disappearance. The total number captured, how many worked for the higher authority, details about the data Wyatt confiscated, and some who’d even provided the Shifters. The fights had been going on for decades, and the higher authority even planned to bust those who no longer attended the matches but were in the records. This was officially the largest crime ring in Cognito history, one that spanned decades and international borders. The public wouldn’t be that surprised to hear about the secret death matches, but come tomorrow morning, they would be stunned to hear the names of those involved. People they looked up to and trusted, many of whom were women. Blue remarked that it would shake the foundation on which women had struggled to build. Many had fought for their independence and had tough beginnings, so it was a disappointment to see how a handful of bad apples could set them back.
Raven had said “good riddance” as those women weren’t ones they wanted in power anyhow. And she was right. Regardless of gender or Breed, there had to be a purge every so often to flush out all the shite.
After Viktor had gone to bed, Wyatt entertained the others with his account of the rescue, which changed by the fifth retelling. Christian couldn’t help but notice how Raven listened with a brave face, minimizing the experience as the others would have done. Hell, like any immortal would have done. Death and mayhem were par for the course. Raven continued drinking long after everyone had gone to bed, and Christian sat with her before inviting her upstairs.
Once alone, he had asked her about her peculiar behavior. She replied, “I didn’t want Viktor to see me shaken up like I can’t handle a bad break. It was bad enough that Wyatt, Claude, and Gem saw the whole thing, but two of them were drunk, so maybe they’ll remember it differently in the morning. Gem panics about everything, but she’s one of those people who always looks on the bright side of life.”
Madness ensued rather quickly during a burial, most of the terror occurring in the first few hours after the oxygen ran out. When he invited Raven to talk about it now that they were alone, she grabbed a bottle of tequila and said, “Don’t put me on the therapy couch. Look at Blue. She almost died and has all those scars, but she bounced back and proved how tough she was. If Viktor sees that I’m an emotional tornado, he’ll cut me from the team. Everyone’s always telling me to bury my emotions before they do me in. If this is what being an immortal is about, then let me deal with it. I don’t want to talk about it, Christian. I just want to get over it.”
He looked back at the bed again when the covers rustled, and she turned over.
Raven’s version of “getting over it” was sex, but when Christian rejected her, she turned to the bottle. He would give her the world, but sex wouldn’t make her forget; it would only associate his passion with her trauma. So instead, she drank herself to sleep, and he let her.
There was no handbook on how to get over a burial. When the air runs out, you glimpse your own mortality for all of thirty seconds before your body goes through an upheaval of change. Then you’re alone in the dark, forsaken by all. The others would never understand how just one day is like an eternity. They would never know how that experience would make it harder to handle tight spaces or even dark rooms. Raven might never suffer those same phobias that Christian once had, but one thing was certain—the person responsible would pay.
A knock sounded at the door, and he rose from his chair to answer.
“Is she all right?” Switch peered over Christian’s shoulder.
Christian swung the door open. “Well, have a gander. Do you feel like more of a man, now that you’ve seen a drunk woman in her knickers?” He stepped into the hall and shut the door behind him.
Switch folded his arms and did that hand tuck men do to make their biceps look bigger. “I made myself scarce all day, so I don’t know what’s been going on with the drinking parties.
But Crush called, asking about Raven. He wanted to know if she showed up and where you were.”
“The man needs to learn how to put a cork in it.”
Switch reached in his pocket and handed Christian his phone. “You tell him. He’s been calling me for hours, and I don’t know what to say. Said he tried calling you, but your phone kept going to voice mail.”
Christian muttered a curse as he called up Raven’s da. “Sorry to pull you away from that decrepit piece of furniture you call a chair, but I’m giving you a ring to let you know that Raven’s fine.” Christian gave Switch a foul look as Crush ranted about how a policeman pulled him over, and he didn’t have any ID on him. “Aye, she’s fine. I’d wake her, but she’s fast asleep. Didn’t mean to trouble you over nothing. … Well, feck you too.” He handed Switch the phone.
Raven would never tell her father what had happened, and Christian had no desire to tell him that his daughter had been buried alive, right next to her mother. Some things were better left unsaid.
Switch dropped his arms at his sides. “Look, you and I don’t get along. That’s fine. But I’ve known Raven since she was a little girl. We weren’t close or anything, but she’s like a packmate to me. I ask questions because I care about her, and nothing you say or do will ever change that. Raven grew up with Crush, but she has an extended family, whether she realizes it or not. If there’s something I can do for her that maybe you don’t have time for, I’m here. Is there anything you want me to bring up? Food? Water? Her favorite ice cream?”
“If you’d stop your tail wagging for just a minute, you’d see that I’ve got it under control. She’s had a rough go with this assignment, that’s all.”
Switch narrowed his wolfish eyes, the eyebrows sloping down at an angle. He cast a critical look at Christian. Shifters were especially good at it. It was that desire they had to take charge of a situation.
Christian leaned his back against the door and folded his arms. “And where’s the wee one?”
Switch squared his shoulders. “Asleep. I’m not here to talk about Hunter. I’m off the clock now, and what I do with my free time is my own business.”