by Lucy Lyons
Peter couldn’t see anything beyond the trees ahead of him, but as soon as he stepped under the cover of their branches, the snow suddenly stopped and he found himself in a world cut off from the foul weather outside. Here and there a stray snowflake fell down through the thick tangle of tree branches above Peter’s head, but the wood was eerily silent all around him, as if even the wind was afraid to go where Peter had to. The ground was covered in a thick layer of fallen brown leaves that had been stopped in their decay by the freezing temperatures. Peter felt as if all time had stopped in these woods and they were just as they had been for centuries. He couldn’t see Landon anywhere around him, but knew the man had to be somewhere nearby. Peter set off to look for him.
As Peter walked through the wood, he started noticing what looked like small piles of rocks littering the mulch-covered ground. After a while he realized the piles were actually made by crumbling tombstones that had been broken to pieces by age. As he walked farther, the tombstones became more whole, until he could start to make out the inscriptions through the lichen growing on their faces. He stooped down to read one. “Mariana Alilovic,” it read, though the dates were unreadable.
Peter was confused. Could Landon have human relatives buried out here? That was highly unlikely. Peter bent down and put his hand on the ground in front of the tombstone. Though he had no particular skill for it, Peter felt he could sense something deep in the dirt, biding its time until it was time to wake. With a shiver Peter stood back up. The pieces were starting to fit together. Peter jogged ahead to look at a few more gravestones. “Eloise Alilovic, Joanna Alilovic,” Peter muttered to himself. Each grave gave Peter that same eerie feeling that it was occupied. Mark had said there had been no sign of Landon’s female relatives. Peter knew that vampires were sometimes forced into a state of hibernation when they did not receive enough blood for a long period of time. Aside from their brief use of David’s stolen blood, Landon’s clan had largely been relying on hunting to survive. Could the women of Landon’s family be buried in this wood, waiting until they could be resurrected with a fresh supply of blood?
There was movement to Peter’s left and he stood up quickly, his fist closed around the handle of one of the wooden stakes Mark had given him. He didn’t want to reveal the gun before he needed to. Landon came out from the trees, looking smug as always. He slicked back his hair and gave Peter a smile.
“I missed you.”
Peter felt bile rising in his throat. This was the man who had threatened Ashe and tempted Peter’s own sisters into betraying their promise to him not to harm a living human. “Wish I could say the same,” he replied.
Landon tapped the side of his head. “My visions told me you were coming, but I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive. It seems you’ve caught me a bit off-guard.”
“I thought you’d have cleared the country by now, especially knowing what I was coming to do to you.”
“We couldn’t leave without the whole family,” Landon replied, sweeping his arms out and looking around. Peter wondered just how many family members had been buried here and how many more of them waited in Europe. But it was too late for Peter to turn back now. He had already committed himself to this fight and would do whatever it took to keep Ashe safe. He gripped the stake tighter in his hand.
“It was only going to be a few more days,” Landon said. “We’ve finally got enough blood stored up to bring the family back together, thanks to those warm bodies we’ve got chained up in the basement. Not including the sick one, mind you. The chemicals in her blood could burn a hole in your stomach. Believe me, I tried.”
Peter frowned as he failed to make sense of Landon’s words.
Landon chuckled. “Oh right, you probably haven’t heard. We ran into your favorite professor and his wife a while back. We still have the woman but we let the husband go after some... improvements.”
“You turned Professor Sharp?” Peter asked with a twinge of anxiety. All semester Ashe had been taking his classes, sitting only feet away from a vampire under Landon’s control. She had even gone to his class right before the blizzard had hit! What if Professor Sharp had done something to her then?
“Yes, and he should be on his way with my prize as we speak. My father said it’s about time I found a mate of my own. Ashe will be much happier as one of us, don’t you think?”
Ashe was in danger. Peter could hear her calling for him, her voice an almost palpable noise in his head. It was much stronger than anything he had imagined before. He couldn’t stand the thought of Landon turning Ashe into a vampire against her will, or doing other things too horrible to even think of. The voice in his head was calling his name and begging him to save her, begging for the pain to stop.
Without thinking, he lunged for Landon.
Landon dodged out of the way with a humored look on his face. “You’re going to stick me with that splinter?”
Peter lunged again. Landon blocked Peter’s blow with his forearm and punched him in the stomach, but Peter was too full of rage to even notice. He retaliated, sending Landon crashing backwards against a gravestone whose grave had been partially cleared out. Landon landed with a thud in the shallow hole and struggled to gain his footing in the soft dirt. His sick smile had left his face, replaced by a look of increasing panic as Peter approached.
There was nowhere for Landon to run as Peter crashed his fist into his nose. Peter could feel the bones cracking under his knuckles, but it didn’t matter. There was only one way to stop a vampire. Peter raised his stake.
“Wait!” Landon shouted; spit flying from his quivering lips. He had lost his entire swagger and was now just a sniveling bug about to be crushed out of existence by Peter’s boot. Peter was done waiting.
All of a sudden Ashe’s cry for help came back, clear as a bell. Peter, please come home. She’s hurting me. I can’t stand it much longer; you have to save me.
This time there was no mistaking that the voice was real. The raw fear in it shook Peter to his bones. Maybe her voice in his head had been real all along. He should never have left her at the college.
There’s not much time.
Ashe’s voice cut off and Peter was sucked back into reality. His head reeled as if he were drunk. He plunged the stake straight into Landon’s heart, feeling nothing as the vampire screeched and writhed. Peter let go of the stake and backed away as Landon clawed at the weapon lodged in his chest, his movements weakening with every passing second.
Peter had finished what he needed to do. He felt no remorse for killing one of his own kind, or for leaving the others to clean up the rest of Landon’s clan without him. Mark and his men were professionals; they would be fine. Peter’s only thoughts were for Ashe.
The way back out of the wood was a blur. Peter’s mind was focused on trying to reach out to Ashe so he could hear her voice again. He didn’t like the way her voice had cut out so suddenly, as if something had happened to silence it. Though he had never heard anyone’s thoughts before, he didn’t think the lack of signal was a problem with his newfound telepathic ability. The reason he couldn’t hear Ashe was because she was no longer crying out to him.
As he sprinted across the field to Mark’s car, Peter could see through the still-falling snow, one of the vampire hunters. He was followed by a limping trail of Landon’s victims coming out of the house. Another hunter brought up the rear of the group. Peter counted five people total, not nearly as many as he had hoped. He wondered if there were more still inside.
He reached the road and got into Mark’s car, taking the spare key from above the sun visor where it was hidden. The tires squealed against the icy road as he pulled a sharp U-turn towards the town. With one hand held tight on the steering wheel, he dialed Ashe’s phone with the other. He hadn’t heard her voice since leaving the woods and he was starting to wonder if it had been a hallucination brought on by what Landon had said and Peter’s own desperate need to keep Ashe safe.
This time she answered.
“Peter.” Her weak voice quavered with tears. Just hearing it made Peter’s heart ache for her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his mind battling visions of Professor Sharp holding her hostage as he drove the car down the snow-covered highway as fast as he could go.
“You shouldn’t have called,” Ashe replied.
Ashe’s odd reply made Peter uneasy. “I was worried about you,” he said. “Did you get home okay? Are you safe?”
There was a long pause, then finally, “I—I can’t do this anymore.”
“Can’t do what?”
“I can’t keep being afraid of you.” Ashe was crying.
Peter felt as if he had been slapped in the face. “What do you mean?” he said. She wasn’t leaving him, was she? No, she couldn’t. Not now, not after everything he’d done to keep her safe.
“I pretended for so long because I thought you’d hurt me. Everything I said to you was a lie. I can’t be with you. I don’t—”
Ashe burst into sobs as Peter swallowed back the bitterness rising within him. Why was she telling him this now? It wasn’t him she should have been afraid of. It was the others—Landon, Professor Sharp, even Penelope, though Peter still hated to acknowledge what his sister had done while starving for blood. Peter wasn’t like the others. He would have died for Ashe in a second; he would have done anything for her.
Then, out of the murky depths of his thoughts came a whisper. Peter strained to listen, blocking out the painful sound of Ashe’s crying from the phone pressed to his ear. The whisper was frustratingly far away, like a dog whistle just above the range of human hearing. He could feel its vibrations, but could not hear what it was saying.
“I don’t love you,” Ashe sobbed into the phone.
Peter only half-registered it, his mind still hung up on the phantom signals. “Wait,” he said. “Don’t say anything.”
“But it’s true,” Ashe sobbed harder. “You have to believe me. Please.”
The voice in Peter’s head was getting clearer, fighting its way through the conflicting noise. Peter gunned the car engine faster, only paying the minimum attention to the scenery whipping by as he fought his breaking heart with every word Ashe said.
“Please, Peter. You have to believe me. I said I don’t love you. I never loved you.” Ashe’s voice was desperate as she shouted for him to reply, but the signal in Peter’s brain started to overpower her spoken words.
I love you Peter. I always loved you.
Peter nearly dropped his phone. The words sounded the same as they had in the wood. He tried to send a message back.
I know, he thought back.
Ashe’s crying on the phone abruptly stopped.
“Are you there?” Peter asked out loud.
“I—I—”
Someone’s there with you, aren’t they? Peter thought. They’re making you say these things to me.
Peter? Is it really you?
Yes, and I’m on my way. Where are you?
You can read minds?
No, I don’t know. This is the first time. But I heard you calling for me. I knew you were in danger. Just tell me where you are.
I’m at your house.
Who’s with you?
Penelope.
Hearing that name was like a stake through his heart. Peter couldn’t even keep Ashe safe from his own family. He couldn’t believe his own sister would do something like this to the woman he loved.
Peter realized that the phone had been silent for far too long. If Penelope was there listening, she would start to grow suspicious. He forced himself to speak aloud.
“It’s okay, I get it. I never should have thought we could be together. I was stupid.”
He heard Ashe’s voice in his mind. I’m so sorry for what I said, but I had to.
I know. It’s okay, he replied. I love you.
“I guess this is goodbye, then,” Peter said into the phone.
I love you too, Ashe replied.
The steady drip of blood into the jar was the only sound in the house. It punctuated the seconds, reminding Ashe just how precious her time really was. She was lying on the sofa with one pale arm hanging off the edge, her fingers barely grazing the floor. From the inside of her elbow, a thin tube trailed across the floor like a snake until it met up with a large glass jar sitting on the coffee table. Her whole body ached as though she had just run a marathon; she was having trouble drawing even breaths. Her vision swam as she glanced down at the glass jar on the low table beside her. It was nearly half full. At least the pain had gone away, the cuts inflicted on her by Penelope’s razor a fuzzy memory in Ashe’s mind.
The only thing that allowed Ashe to keep her tenuous grasp on consciousness was the echo of Peter’s words in her mind. He was coming to get her and she had to stay strong for him. She couldn’t give up hope.
“I learned this technique from a friend,” Penelope said, checking that the stopper on the jar, through which the tube fed, was secured tightly. “This kind of bloodletting can be used intermittently for weeks if the victim is strong and given time to rest in between. Fortunately for you I don’t have that luxury this time around. I have to get rid of you by the time the others wake.”
Ashe felt like her ears had been stuffed with cotton and Penelope’s words sounded muffled.
Hurry Peter.
Ashe tried to project her message as she had earlier, but her mind was too weak from the blood loss to fix on any one thought for too long. She didn’t know if Peter’s telepathy could reach her mind without any effort on her part, but she hadn’t heard anything from him since their phone call. Her hope that he would get there in time was draining with every drop of blood that filled the jar.
“The way you broke Peter’s heart was just delightful, by the way,” Penelope crooned. She licked her red-tinged lips. “And the note you leave when you run away from home will be just as good. No one will ever suspect that you’re actually buried somewhere outside of town in an unmarked grave.”
She pinched the thin rubber tube leading from the inside of Ashe’s elbow to the jar, which now was half-filled with blood, and removed the stopper from the jar. Ashe felt momentary relief as the flow of blood from her body stopped. She wondered if Penelope was done with her for now. With the snow, it was impossible to tell how late in the evening it was, but it couldn’t be long before the rest of Peter’s family woke. Even if Penelope was letting her rest now, her time would be up soon enough if Peter didn’t get here.
“Does that feel better?” Penelope smiled her razor smile.
Ashe muttered weakly and closed her eyes. She needed a few moments to rest, that was all, but she wouldn’t let herself fall asleep. Somehow she knew that if she fell asleep now, there would be no waking up again.
“You might think I’m evil for what I’m doing to you, but I’m not. What I’m doing to you is only in my nature. But of course you already understand this to some degree.”
Ashe felt a tugging on the needle in her arm then a strong feeling of vertigo.
“You allowed your father to continue his important work for our family. You even tried to forgive me for my sin of biting you. But what you fail to comprehend is that our hunger is not meant to be controlled or managed like some chronic disease that eats away at an otherwise healthy body.”
Ashe’s ears thudded then rang in a single eerie pitch. She opened her eyes to see what Penelope was doing to her, but black spots obscured her vision. They spread over Ashe’s vision like mold, making her sick to her stomach.
“Our vampirism is what gives us our power. It’s our deepest essence. You accepted us despite what we are, not because of it. You may think in your stupid little head that you love my brother but what you feel is not true love. You can never love him completely because deep down you’re revolted by the fact that he lives of the blood of human beings.”
Intense pain shot down Ashe’s arm and her skin began to tingle with the loss of feeling. With shock she realized what Penelope was doing. She
was drinking directly from Ashe’s artery.
Ashe willed herself to move but her body refused to respond. She managed to lift her head a few inches off the sofa cushion, but consciousness threatened to escape her for good this time. She let her head fall back down with a thud. Her eyes were useless in her head as the darkness consumed her.
She was dying and Peter wasn’t there to save her.
CHAPTER 6
Peter drove the car right up onto the lawn. It didn’t matter since it was in the snow; he couldn’t afford to waste any time. He had been trying to reach Ashe telepathically the whole ride over but could not detect even the slightest trace of her in his mind. The thought that something had happened to her nagged at him and made him feel guilty for ever leaving her side. He was already at the front door of his house when he realized he was holding the remaining stake Mark had given him, its twin having already been lodged into Landon’s heart. Peter didn’t know if he could bear to do the same to his own sister, the woman who had sung over his cradle and brought him blood when he was too young to hunt for himself. Landon had been a monster, but Penelope was family. It wouldn’t be so easy this time around.
Peter burst through the front door and into a nightmare scene. Ashe lay on the sofa as if dead. Penelope had Ashe’s arm to her mouth, rivulets of scarlet blood dripping down from her lips onto the carpet below. She looked feral, her eyes lit with an unnatural light. She was a creature from the depths of Hell itself.
“Get off her!” Peter shouted, shoving Penelope away from Ashe.
Penelope hissed and backed up as Peter brandished the stake. He crouched protectively over Ashe, holding one hand tightly over the wound on her arm to stop the flow of blood. Peter fought a wave of dizziness as the tangy metallic smell was going straight to his head. His grip tightened on her arm.
“Are you okay?” he asked her. Her eyelids fluttered, but she was otherwise unresponsive. There was a sheen of cold sweat on her brow. Peter could see the fine cuts crisscrossing Ashe’s skin as he put his fingers to her neck for a pulse. He winced, thinking about the pain that had been inflicted on her. Her pulse was weak and fading with every second.