Visions of Destiny (Complete Series)

by Kallysten

  In a flash as blinding as it was painful, Jack suddenly remembered how the fight had ended. He remembered losing his weapon, remembered Angela’s dainty but strong hands manhandling him, immobilizing him. He remembered her fangs too. They had seemed to gleam as she leaned in toward his neck. And then they had pressed into his flesh and pain had flared through his body. Pain…but not only pain.

  He raised his hand to touch his neck, stopping mid-motion to frown briefly when he noticed he was naked. When, why, the questions flickered through his mind but he pushed them away. It didn’t matter. He didn’t even feel self-conscious about his nakedness, he realized with an odd detachment. There was only one thing that mattered, one question he wanted answered at that moment. He finally completed his motion and touched his throat.

  He easily found the puncture marks on his neck. Dried blood flaked under his fingers. The wounds felt closed, even healed. He slid his fingers a little higher, pressed a little harder, and waited to feel his pulse beat under his fingertips.

  He waited for a full minute before accepting what he already knew was the truth. His heart wasn’t beating anymore.

  Bringing the same fingers to his mouth, he felt inside, touching his teeth gingerly. He couldn’t find—

  Just as he thought of his fangs, they extended, nicking his questing fingertip. A drop of his own blood hit his tongue and he moaned at the taste of it, at the sheer strength he could feel in that one small drop—and at how hungry he was, suddenly, for a lot more than one drop.

  Hunger such as he had never known before gnawed at him, consumed him from the inside out as every fiber of his being screamed for more blood. Without thinking, he sucked on his pricked finger, using his tongue to coax more blood from the small cut. It was already healing. A quiet chuckle answered his growl of frustration.

  At once his head whipped toward the sound. He hadn’t noticed before, but now he understood that he shouldn’t have been able to see this well in such poor light. He had always had very good eyesight, but this was beyond good. Although he had known that the creatures he hunted had keener senses than he did, he had never realized to what point.

  In an instant he found the source of the laugh. Angela approached the bed. Her eyes were glowing like molten lava.

  A part of Jack, a new part that felt unfamiliar but strong, rejoiced at the approach of the woman he wanted to call “Sire.” Another part, the part that remembered that last fight and the agony of defeat, only felt anger at the satisfaction she wore like a mask—an anger powerful enough to silence the desire for obedience he could feel simply from watching her.

  His hand slid across the mattress, then under the pillows, instinctively searching for a stake. Only then did he realize that she held one in her hands.

  She stopped in front of the bed, her dressing gown an inch away from touching the edge of the mattress. The gown was white, long enough to reach her calves. The belt hung loose on the sides, revealing a long but thin strip of flesh; she wore nothing underneath it. The fabric had a slight sheen to it, like satin, and for the blink of an eye—the time of a heartbeat, but Jack couldn’t measure time with those anymore—he was forcibly reminded of the wedding dress his friend Daisy had worn a few years earlier. Lydia had been at the wedding, too. Lydia. She was a vampire now. And so was he.

  The association of thoughts unfurled through his mind and would have left him breathless if he had still needed breath. As it was, he had to force his focus back on Angela—back on the woman who had killed him once and who might soon kill him a second time.

  Raising her hand, Angela showed the stake to him. “Is this what you’re looking for?” she asked with a pleasant smile. “You don’t actually want to kill your own Sire, do you, Childe?”

  The first words that came to Jack’s mind, words of anger and defiance, were never voiced. Before he could even open his mouth, he realized how conflicted he was. He wanted her dead, yes, wanted to finish what he had started as a human, wanted to take his revenge. But that desire, that need was fading in front of these simple words she had used with such a matter-of-fact tone. Sire and Childe. They were more than enemies, now. More than a Special Enforcer and a vampire. Could he even make himself raise a hand to her?

  The mere thought of it sent an icy shiver down his spine.

  As though she knew exactly what was going on through his mind, Angela smiled, widely enough to show her fangs. She sat on the bed by Jack’s feet, her body angled toward him when she crossed one leg over the other. The robe slipped to one side, exposing her fully from hip to toe. She didn’t seem to notice, idly playing with the stake in her hands as she mused aloud.

  “You do know how much my death would hurt you, right? They still teach that at the Academy, don’t they?”

  Jack didn’t know whether to look at her hands and the weapon she held, or the long, pale line of her leg, or her eyes, still burning with the same fire. He did know where she was looking, and while he still didn’t care about being naked, he felt extremely awkward about being half-hard and exposed in front of her. He didn’t even know why he was hard. After all, it wasn’t as though he felt anything akin to desire for her. She was a vampire, she was… Like him, he remembered abruptly.

  More confused than uncomfortable, he fumbled behind him for a pillow and laid it across his lap. Angela raised an amused eyebrow at him but didn’t comment.

  “How…” His voice croaked and he stopped, embarrassed. He swallowed and started over. “How do you know about the Academy?”

  Her dismissive gesture would have been less threatening without the stake still in her hands.

  “Never mind how I know about it,” she said with a tinge of impatience. “A lot of what they teach is flat out wrong, but that part, at least, is true.”

  Her words turned colder and so did her gaze, until Jack could have sworn snowflakes were swirling in her blue-gray eyes.

  “Take it from someone who lost their Sire,” she continued. “Because of you, I may add. It does not feel pleasant, believe me. More like someone tearing me apart from the inside out.”

  Something deep inside Jack withered at the cold in her voice, and it was a struggle not to offer an apology. He fought back that instinct with all his might. Apologize for killing Carlo? Why should he? He had only done his duty. He had done what was right.

  Or at least… It had felt right at the time. Saving the people Carlo would have undoubtedly killed if allowed to live had felt important. So why was it so difficult to cling to that rightness when confronted to this simple fact: the woman in front of him was in pain because he had killed this one vampire, who had happened to be her Sire?

  He shook his head to try to clear his thoughts and get back to what truly mattered, but the movement only heightened his confusion. He remembered what he had thought, what he had held dear, but when she asked with a cold surprise, “You don’t believe me?” an answer came to Jack’s lips right away.

  “I do. And I’m—”

  He bit his tongue to stop himself from saying ‘sorry.’ He wouldn’t apologize. He wouldn’t, damn it, clinging to that resolve with his fingernails. Everything he felt, everything he was, screamed that he owed respect and obedience to this woman. But he had always been told he was too stubborn for his own good.

  “And I’m curious about why you didn’t kill me,” he finished.

  Angela blinked then laughed, throwing back her head and exposing the long, elegant curve of her throat. Jack’s fangs, which had receded, extended again and he jumped in surprise at the odd feeling.

  “But I did kill you,” Angela said, her eyes gleaming as much as the teeth she exposed in a wide grin. “Ask the proper question, Childe.”

  She pushed herself higher up on the bed, then laid down on her side, propping her temple against her open hand. Her other hand still played with the stake, rolling it back and forth on the bed sheet. Was it a threat? A reminder tha
t she held the power? What about the way she displayed her body, the robe still revealing glimpses of her flesh: was that an invitation? She was certainly close enough for Jack to touch her—close enough to touch him, too. Under the pillow he still clutched in his lap, his cock twitched almost hopefully.

  With too many thoughts, too many questions swirling through his mind, Jack didn’t answer right away and Angela clucked her tongue reprovingly.

  “What you mean to ask is, why didn’t I leave you dead?” she said, almost chastising,

  Jack frowned, disliking the way she was talking to him as though he were nothing but a child—and not a very bright one at that.

  “So?” he all but snapped. “Why didn’t you?”

  Fire blazed through her eyes, gone as quickly as it had appeared.

  “You know, I think I’ll have to teach you politeness. That is in no way a manner to speak to your Sire.” Her words were clipped, as sharp as the nails she suddenly raked down his face.

  Jack jerked back, trying to get away from her but already her hand was back to playing with the stake, three of her fingers now tipped red from the blood he could feel sliding down his cheek—the blood he could smell as though he were drenched in it. The scent twisted his insides, reawakening the hunger he had been distracted from until now.

  Angela clucked her tongue again, her expression stern as she demanded, “Ask again, Childe. Nicely, now.”

  Her eyes gleamed with that strange, warning fire once more and Jack’s reluctance to do what she asked simply vanished, replaced by an instinct to obey that he couldn’t fight back.

  “Why did you turn me?” he asked, and added a belated, “Sire,” when her gaze hardened.

  She let a beat pass before inclining her head briefly. “You can call me Angela,” she said coolly. “And I turned you because I do not like being alone. You took my Sire from me. I took your life from you. Fair is fair.”

  Of all possible answers, this was the one Jack would have expected the least. What did fairness have to do with anything? The obedient part of him retreated again as his previous anger flared again.

  “Fair?” he repeated, his entire body tensing until his muscles ached. “What is fair about any of this? You killed me! You replaced someone you loved with—”

  Angela laughed again and while her earlier laugh had been like silver bells, now it sounded harsher, darker, even mocking.

  “Loved?” She snickered as she sat up again, her legs drawn to the side. “Who said anything about love? I didn’t love him.”

  But as strong as her voice was, it couldn’t hide the beginning of a tremor. She was lying. She had to be. Jack was sure of it.

  “Vampires don’t love,” she continued. “The faster you get that silly notion out of your head, the better.”

  Jack had heard that claim before; another lesson learned at the Academy. The instructors tried to instill in all Special Enforcer trainees the notion that vampires were other, and the fact that they looked human did not make them so. To expect human reactions from them—to expect them, for example, to protect anyone they allegedly loved—was to ask for trouble.

  Yet Jack had learned better in recent years. And he knew this was all a myth.

  “That’s not true,” he said, meeting Angela’s eyes squarely.

  It was obvious at once that she didn’t care to be contradicted so blatantly. Her mouth twisted as though she had just tasted something unpleasant.

  “Excuse me?” she hissed, eyes narrowed to daggers. “You’ve been a vampire for all of ten minutes and you think you know more than I do?”

  Jack shrugged, trying to dislodge the feeling of discomfort that weighed him down at the simple realization that his Sire was displeased with him.

  “I know…knew someone. A vampire. And she was in love with her Sire, before and after he turned her.”

  It pained him to say this aloud. For a long time, Jack had tried to convince himself that it wasn’t true, that his ex-girlfriend, Lydia, had not truly been in love with that vampire; that the creature hadn’t loved her back, that she had been deluding herself, been seduced by someone who lied in lieu of breathing. But he had seen her recently; he had seen both of them at one of the vampire’s art shows. He had remained cautious enough that they hadn’t noticed him but he had seen the smiles they shared and their entwined hands. He had also seen the same light in Lydia’s eyes that had once been directed at him. The same love.

  For a few seconds, Angela did nothing more than consider him with a slight frown. Jack was sure she was going to ask him about Lydia and was already trying to figure out how he would deflect her; he had no intention to bring Angela’s attention to his ex.

  In the end all she did was give one slight shake of her head and say wryly, “Well, good thing you and I are true vampires then. No love here.” She paused and her mouth twisted into a leering smile as she added, “But you do have a lovely cock. I bet it’s even nicer when it’s fully hard.”

  In a movement as swift and unexpected as when she had scratched his face, she pulled the pillow off his lap. Jack let out a startled sound and tried to hold on but it was too late. He dropped his hands to his crotch to hide his cock as well as he could, but even that small contact felt heavenly and he hissed in surprise. He had been half erect before but so focused on Angela, so torn between the need to obey her every word and his anger at what had happened to him, that he hadn’t paid much mind to his body. His cock had hardened fully yet he wasn’t even sure why. He frowned down at the treacherous bit of flesh. It wasn’t like he was attracted to Angela.

  Or was he?

  His confusion must have showed; Angela grinned sharply, flashing her fangs.

  “Blood,” she said.

  This time her hand rose slowly toward his face. Jack almost flinched away but his pride stopped him. He refused to let her believe he was afraid of her—even if part of him was. He forced himself to stay very still and allowed her fingers to make contact. They trailed against his cheek, following the same path as her nails. The touch was electric, the jolt coursing through Jack, going straight to his balls. He pinched his lips tightly together and blinked twice fast. Angela’s gaze remained intent on her touch. When she pulled her hand away and turned it to show Jack, each of her fingertips was dark red and gleaming wetly. Jack’s nostrils flared.

  “Blood,” she said again and this time it was a murmur thick with echoes of sex. “There is more than one hunger and blood is linked to it all. Didn’t you notice how the smell made you hard?”

  Jack didn’t reply. He hadn’t. The all-consuming hunger that had gnawed at him since he had awakened, that same hunger he tried so hard to ignore, had leapt at the scent of his own blood, as it had when he had cut his finger. Now that he allowed himself to be aware of it, he knew that he wasn’t merely hungry for blood. He craved touch, too; wanted to kiss those plump, red lips, suck on flesh, plunge into a welcoming body, cock and fangs and—

  “Now you’re getting it,” Angela practically purred.

  Her pupils were wide, a rim of golden fire surrounding blue-gray ice. She brought her fingers to her lips and sucked each of them into her mouth, one at a time, licking them clean of his blood. Jack couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was all he could do not to moan. Behind the shield of his cupped hands, his cock twitched, smearing precome against his fingers.

  “It’s frightening, isn’t it?” she continued when she had dropped her hand again. “How deeply you need? You’ve never felt anything like this before, have you?”

  “How…how do you know?” Jack croaked.

  “Because I was hungry too, when I woke up.”

  Her tone was gently chiding as though the answer ought to have been obvious to Jack. Maybe he might have been able to think if all his blood hadn’t currently resided in his cock. Right now his mind was torn between two primal thoughts: blood and sex. Everything else was i
rrelevant.

  Angela continued speaking carelessly as though she didn’t feel the same urgency; but she had to, didn’t she? She smelled like desire. Although how Jack knew what desire smelled like, he couldn’t have said.

  “I was hungry,” she said again. “And when my Sire offered me his wrist, his blood was simply the best thing I had ever tasted.”

  Jack’s gaze dropped to her hands. One of them rested on her thigh while she leaned against the other splayed on the bed. She had cast the stake aside on the very edge of the bed, where it threatened to roll off onto the floor. He looked back at her face, wondering if she was finished intimidating him and would offer him her blood now. He realized he was licking his lips when her eyes flicked down to his mouth. He made himself stop and raised an eyebrow at her, asking without a word. It wouldn’t be that easy, however.

  “Ask,” Angela said. “Nicely.”

  Jack wanted to do as she requested, almost as much as he wanted to touch her, drink from her. Almost, but not quite. He had never begged in his life and he wouldn’t start now that he was dead.

  “Ask?” he repeated despite his tight throat. “So you can refuse me? Taunt me?”

  An expression of surprise flickered over Angela’s features, gone as quickly as it had appeared, yet too fleeting to be anything other than genuine. “Why would I make you ask only to refuse you?”

  Jack tried not to breathe. It helped if he didn’t smell her desire—and his own layered on top of it, giving it more depth.

  “I killed your Sire. Why would you want to do anything for me?”

  Her robe slipped further when she shrugged, exposing a pale, almost delicate shoulder. Jack knew better than to think she was defenseless, however. After all, she had defeated him in hand to hand combat.