The King (Games We Play Book 2)

by Liz Meldon

  “Come on, seriously?” She groaned, unwelcome tears resurfacing. “Come on, you piece of shit…”

  When her next few attempts to get things going failed, Delia slammed the laptop shut and pushed it down her bed. It stopped just at the edge, half an inch from toppling over, and she took what she hoped were calming breaths to ward off the impending bout of tears.

  She was so sick of crying—yet, after each storm passed, Delia was a tiny bit better.

  CHAPTER 15: Safe Choice is an Oxymoron

  “Welcome to Safe Choice Grocers. Would you like a coupon booklet?”

  Delia contemplated blitzing by the teenager stationed by the entrance as the doors whooshed shut behind her, then thought better of it. Although the work she used to do was boring, this was worse—no point in treating the poor girl like she didn’t exist.

  “Thanks,” Delia muttered, taking the thin booklet from her.

  “That’ll be five dollars.”

  They stared at one another, both equally expressionless, and Delia slowly handed the coupon book back. The teen took it, then faced the newest arrival with the same mechanical speech.

  “Welcome to Safe Choice Grocers. Would you like a coupon booklet?”

  “No,” the man muttered sharply in passing. Raindrops rolled down his wide-brimmed hat and coat. Delia looked through the Plexiglas doors, marred with fingerprints at roughly kid height, and frowned. Perfect. Exactly what she wanted—to carry her groceries home in the rain.

  Sighing, she grabbed a basket from the pile nearby and headed in.

  Three gruelling days had passed since Wentworth ripped her a new one in his office, and so far, silence from the High Council. Delia couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing or not, but tonight was the first time she’d ventured outside her apartment since it all happened.

  Earlier that day she had finally confided in Devin over the phone, needing to talk to someone or she’d blow a gasket. Claude was the one she actually wanted to talk to, but seeing as he hadn’t replied since her rebuff via text a few days before, Delia thought it best to exclude him. Although just the sound of his voice would lift the funk following her around, it would also complicate everything.

  Devin had been supportive after the initial shock of her story wore off, and not once did he sound judgey about the fact that she’d accidentally let a vampire bite her.

  “Why didn’t you come to me, D?” he’d asked when they met up at one of their usual twenty-four–hour diners, face riddled with concern. “I could have helped you. I don’t know how, but you shouldn’t have had to deal with this alone.”

  While Delia hadn’t wanted to tell him, the bite incident was integral to the overall story—it was why Kain’s betrayal stung as much as it did, and it was why the High Council had leverage to use her. Everything Delia hadn’t known about the League, all its secrets about Claudia and day-walking vampires, was news to Devin too. His response to Claudia being fake had certainly been more humorous than hers.

  “I fucking knew it,” he’d all but shouted, banging his hand on the table and making the waitress side-eye him. “I knew that bitch wasn’t real. That’s some bullshit, man.”

  Somehow, him being just as in the dark as she’d been made Delia feel a bit better.

  “Wait for the axe to fall, D,” Devin had told her when they’d moved onto her suspension. “Wentworth already told you it won’t be a death sentence. You’ll survive, one way or another.”

  It wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear, but Delia rationalized it was probably what she needed.

  Devin had no thoughts on her romantic problems, but only because Delia hadn’t shared them beyond the fact that a prominent vamp had bitten her months ago and she was now forced to spy on him. She knew that no matter how awful she felt, her situation with Claude should be worked out by the two of them, not an outsider. Besides, even if Devin hadn’t been judgemental over the bite, she knew his prejudices wouldn’t let him accept the idea that she’d actually fallen for a vamp.

  That was just too much to ask of him.

  While she hadn’t wanted to leave the house that night, the lack of food in her fridge and pantry forced her hand. Dressed in an old hooded high school sweatshirt, black wool tights, knee-high brown boots and a thin army-green jacket, she’d braved the chilly temperatures and trekked down to the grocery store three blocks over to stock up on supplies. Her heart wanted chips and ice cream, but her body demanded at least one vegetable—any vegetable. All the contemplative moping lately had made her feel like sludge.

  Given the hour, gauging how busy the grocery store would be was a crapshoot. Sometimes she’d wander in before closing and the place would be swamped. Other times, nothing. Tonight fell closer to the latter, though Delia counted maybe one person or couple in each aisle she passed. It wasn’t the largest grocery in Harriswood, but given its location downtown at the base of a residential apartment complex, it was a palace.

  After tossing a few pre-mixed bags of salad in her basket, Delia grabbed a pack of frozen chicken thighs, then made a beeline for the comfort food aisle. Chips. Chocolate. Salted caramel chews. It would be a miracle if she hadn’t packed on a few—or ten—pounds between the last time Wentworth saw her and the next. Come to think of it, her waistband was a little tight.

  Just what she needed. Weight gain on top of the downward spiral of her professional life, followed shortly by her romantic one. No word from Claude for more than a day spelled trouble, but as she squared her shoulders and pushed on, Delia forcefully reminded herself that she had brought on any tension between them all by herself. Claude was the innocent victim in all this.

  The thought only worsened her mood, and she resisted the urge to pull her hood up and skulk around the discount candy section.

  She paused, however, at the row of name-brand popcorn boxes. The last time she’d had it was when Claude came over for a movie date—horror movie marathon, lots of zombies and found footage films and snuggles on her couch. A soft smile touched her lips as she lifted her hand, but Delia paused before she grabbed a box. She’d been so nervous about showing Claude her teeny one-bedroom apartment that she’d detail-cleaned the place from top to bottom for the first time in months. It had practically glistened when he arrived.

  Yet Claude barely noticed. He’d been so interested in her that she was sure if she asked today, he wouldn’t even remember the colour of her couch. True to his nature, Claude hadn’t for one second focused on the little things—the pointless things. Just like he never pointed out when her windswept hair looked a wreck or her t-shirt had a stubborn food stain. He struck her as a big picture thinker, letting the little things slide. She needed a man like that in her life.

  Her arm fell to her side, her smile fading as she stared at the popcorn label. Delia needed a man like Claude, but here she was, pushing him away. And for what? For a job that had steadily crushed her spirit over the years?

  Shoving her mounting quarter-life crisis to the back of her mind, Delia left the popcorn behind, on a sudden quest for juice cartons to replenish her stock. In the next aisle over she spied a mom with her two kids, one dozing in the shopping cart’s baby seat, the other pulling boxes of pancake mix off the shelf.

  “Kyle, stop,” the woman said as Delia passed. The little boy grinned toothily at her, which Delia returned halfheartedly, before knocking four boxes off the shelf in one fell swoop. Delia looked away as his mother snapped his name again and crouched down to tidy the mess.

  As she rounded the end of the aisle, pausing at the display of discounted cereal, someone at the front of the store screamed. Delia’s gaze shot up, a shockwave passing through her. Another scream, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Moments later, all hell had broken loose—and, amidst the chaos, not all the voices were fearful cries. No, there were bellows and barked orders too, deep and gruff. As Delia dropped her basket and peered around the shelving units, she saw people running, men in black leather jackets hot on their heels. She pulled bac
k when one started down the aisle she had just been in, heading straight for the mom and her two kids.

  The music cut out. Glass shattered somewhere again, and the sound of blunt tools hitting shelves and cold storage units alike sent her scurrying in the opposite direction. It quickly became clear that there was a robbery in progress, and as Delia shot to the fruits and veggies department at the far end of the store and crouched down behind a tower of stacked watermelons, she suspected the ones committing the crime were rounding up shoppers.

  With trembling hands, she unzipped her purse to grab her phone.

  Only to find it missing.

  She’d left it at home.

  Delia knew precisely where it was, too. Sitting on the armrest of her couch, plugged in and charging at the outlet. Her wallet was also missing, most likely in her other purse. She’d grabbed this one because the other’s strap was starting to fray. All she had was her newly acquired stake—an item she made sure never to bring on dates with Claude—and her keys.

  “Fuck,” she hissed.

  “Get on the ground!” a man bellowed nearby. It wasn’t directed at Delia as far as she could tell, so she hung low and crept along beneath the produce bins, using the brim laden with produce to hide as best she could. The fresh food section was closest to the main doors. If she could slip out while they were distracted with other shoppers, she could find help.

  That plan went out the window pretty fast. Two men, thickset and square-jawed, stood guard by the door. One rooted through his duffle bag, then straightened with a can of spray paint in hand. Delia watched, biting down on her cheek, as he shook it, then started drawing something on the doors. They must have disabled them somehow—the doors were automatic, set to open once someone stepped on the sensor beneath the carpet in front of them.

  Okay, new plan. There was always another exit. Turning, Delia shuffled toward the back of the store again, recalling a door marked for employees only and another with hanging plastic flaps covering the entrance to the in-store bakery. There had to be an exit somewhere.

  She didn’t make it far enough to investigate either. With the employees-only door in sight, she was forced out of hiding when heavy footfalls thundered toward her. She tried to skirt around to the other side of the display bins, but was cornered in front of the cucumber, celery, and lettuce display lining the wall.

  “Get up,” the hulking man ordered. Delia turned to flee, but a viselike grip clamped down around her arm and hauled her to her feet. She noted the crowbar he carried on her way up, and sucked in a breath when she came face-to-face, not with a man, but a vamp. Her heart hammered harder and faster than it should. Delia hadn’t expected to run into one here, his face so dreadfully pale and his eyes bloodshot.

  “Let go,” she grunted, using that moment to cop a feel of his wrist. Ice cold. Frigid like death. She pressed her lips together firmly, the reality of the situation hitting hard. Definitely a vampire.

  He shook her off, then dragged her toward the aisles again. By the looks of it, another vamp stood waiting there, a third in the baking supplies aisle he thrust her down. Meanwhile, a herd of frightened shoppers clustered together, Delia shoved into the middle of them. The mom she’d passed before stood in the middle crying, clutching the smaller of her two children to her chest. The other, Kyle the mess-maker, was nowhere to be seen. Most of the people, humans judging by their complexions, appeared roughed up in one way or another. Some cradled their hands; others sucked at swollen and busted lips. One shopper had what she guessed to be a broken nose, another a steadily darkening eye. The mom’s purse and jacket were gone and her shirt appeared ripped. Meanwhile, the child in her arms had red cheeks and watery eyes, but the pacifier between his lips seemed to be keeping him quiet—for now.

  One of the vamps pushed through the crowd while the other two remained at the rear, barking for everyone to move forward. They were rounding everyone up. Corralling them all into one place. Delia squared her shoulders and took a few deep breaths to focus herself. It was time to start looking at this situation from a hunter’s perspective. It wasn’t enough to cower with the others and hope the police arrived soon.

  She’d faced and killed vamps in the past. Not many, but her stake had seen a bit of action during her five-year career. Generally, though, she seldom found herself in a situation where she needed to kill anyone. Arrest. Detain. Sanction. Record. Those were the duties of a mid-level hunter. But now wasn’t the time for any of that. The brutes had already hurt people. She couldn’t let it escalate. She wouldn’t. Nobody was going to die on her watch.

  Delia had knowledge of the enemy, an advantage the shoppers around her lacked. She had a stake in her purse and Claude’s training at the back of her mind. If the High Council was going to kick her out tomorrow, she might as well go down swinging.

  And if she died in the process, maybe in the afterlife, if there even was one, Delia could feel like she had done her duty. She had saved the lives of the innocent—the real reason she’d taken up the hunter life in the first place. Now, staring down three enemies armed with spiked clubs and crowbars, a cluster of terrified people between them, Delia wasn’t so sure she had it in her.

  Well. No time like the present to find out.

  Discretely slipping her hand into her purse, she pushed the little button at the end of the metallic stake to elongate it, then cleared her throat as it clicked into place. The captive group was almost at the end of the aisle—the vamps must have wanted to hold hostages at the front of store. Or maybe they planned to casually devour them near the discount nacho chip stand by the cash registers.

  Head down, Delia made her way to the front of the group as inconspicuously as she could, using the sniffling, crying, panicky humans as her cover. When she had the vamp in front of her, she took a deep breath and lunged. Seconds later, her newly sharpened stake buried deep into his back, right down to the hilt.

  Right into the heart.

  She had missed when she’d made a snap decision to try and stake Claude on the night of masquerade, but Delia had learned since then. A woman behind her shrieked as the vamp crumpled, his skin already starting to lose what little colour it had. Delia went down with him, hand wrapped around the stake so tightly that his weight dragged her to the floor.

  “Hunter!” he cried, the word gargled as a dark reddish-brown blood seeped out his mouth and onto the linoleum.

  She looked back to the stunned group behind her. “Run!”

  With some effort, she yanked the stake out, stumbling back and into the shelves. Her heart pounded hard—quick and sharp, rattling against her ribcage. She’d expected the other two vamps to be on her in a second, but her show of courage must have roused the troops. As most of the human hostages scattered, four human men had charged the other two vamps. The attack was useless—they were woefully unprepared for the strength and ferocity of their vampire foes—but it gave Delia a few precious seconds to compose herself.

  She snatched a container of frosting off the shelf beside her and hurled it at the nearest vamp scuffling with two rather large men in bloodied suits. Her aim had improved since working with Claude, if only thanks to the fact that he thought her hand-eye coordination was something in desperate need of improvement. The hit knocked the vamp off his game, giving the two men a chance to drag him to the ground, and Delia fired off two more frosting cans before turning and scaling the shelves behind her.

  It wasn’t right to leave a handful of humans to fight two vamps, but Delia wasn’t going to be much help. She’d been lucky to catch the first vamp off-guard. Staking the others would be more difficult now that they knew they had a hunter in their midst.

  With all the grace she could muster, she clambered up the shelves, knocking products off as she went; a bag of flour tumbled down and exploded as it hit the floor below. Delia hopped down to the other side, crossed the aisle in two steps, and climbed up the next shelf. And then the next. She went until she was at least three aisles away from the staked vamp, then did
a quick sweep of the store before climbing down again.

  If she had counted correctly, there were two vamps at the front, two left in the baking aisle, and one prowling around the frozen food aisle. Five vamps. One Delia.

  Fuck.

  It wasn’t until she wormed her way in behind a row of paper towels, pushing and wriggling onto the shelf so that she was well hidden, that she even acknowledged what terrible odds she was up against.

  But if she could take down one or two more, maybe it would give the other shoppers a chance to find an exit. She hoped for their sake they had found suitable hiding places around the store instead of running blindly toward the vamps spray-painting the doors.

  It was a miracle the metal shelf was holding her. Larger than the usual foodstuffs shelf, it was meant for towering packages of paper towels and toilet paper—and now a vampire hunter who needed to catch her breath and calm her mind. During training, Claude had said he could see her thinking, like her eyes were windows to the gears in her brain turning away. And they were always on overdrive, apparently. Socializing had always come naturally to Delia. Working through a spur-of-the-moment League scenario? Her brain bounced all over the place until she sat down and forced it to focus on one thing at a time. But she was getting better, utilizing Claude’s calming techniques to collect her thoughts.

  Eyes closed, Delia concentrated on her breathing. Any vamp walking down the aisle would hear her in a second if she didn’t. Slow and even. She took all the time she needed, listening to the sounds of subdued humans around the store. After a while, it all went quiet, but so too did her breath.

  With that under control, she rotated her body—very slowly—so that she was on her belly, then inched along the dark shelf, thin metal shelving above and below, careful not to knock into any of the stacked items shielding her from onlookers. She crawled along, worming her way across the cool metal, mind relatively clear save for the task at hand, until she made it to the end of the aisle. From there, she listened again. Vamps were shouting to one another, demanding they find the hunter, that there wasn’t supposed to be a hunter, that one of them hadn’t signed up for this.