Greg hadn’t moved. He wasn’t a vampire. But Joe was.
“You’re not going to freak on me, are you?” Joe said as he came back. “You’re under my protection. My dad would run his dogs for you, now. You’ll be OK. No one will touch you. If they do, they die.”
“You killed your brother.” Greg pointed to the glistening asphalt, the blood slowly washing away. He half expected Joe to be gone when he turned back, but he was still there, thin body slumped to look like he always did with a half-smile on his face and the rain beading up on his smooth, always smooth, chin.
“No, you killed my brother,” he said. “And stop worrying, lame-ass. I don’t have any more brothers. I was the last. Seventh son of a seventh son. It starts with me, this generation. Shit, man, we’re going to have fun.”
Greg felt his face go pale. “I’m a seventh son, too.”
Joe smacked him on the back to get him moving again. “Yeah. I know. Let’s run. I want you to meet my family. They’ll be waiting by the funnel cakes for me.” Jogging backwards, Joe started putting space between them. “Come on, man. Let’s go! We got chicks to pound.”
Not knowing why but for that it felt good, Greg started to jog after him and, in a moment, he was beside Joe, feeling like he belonged there. His blood began moving, and the aches in his legs and knees disappeared. He was Joe’s bodyguard?
They ran effortlessly from light to light, almost as if they were holding still and the earth was turning beneath them. “Joe?” he said, breathing fast, but not that bad.
“Yeah?”
He hesitated, not wanting to sound like an idiot. “Can you fly and shit?”
Joe started to laugh and, with that buoying him on, Greg ran in the rain, feeling pretty damn good.
Blood Gothic
Nancy Holder
She wanted to have a vampire lover. She wanted it so badly that she kept waiting for it to happen. One night, soon, she would awaken to wings flapping against the window and then take to wearing velvet ribbons and cameo lockets around her delicate, pale neck. She knew it.
She immersed herself in the world of her vampire lover: She devoured Gothic romances, consumed late-night horror movies. Visions of satin capes and eyes of fire shielded her from the harshness of the daylight, from mortality and the vain and meaningless struggles of the world of the sun. Days as a kindergarten teacher and evenings with some overly eager, casual acquaintance could not pull her from her secret existence: always a ticking portion of her brain planned, proceeded, waited.
She spent her meagre earnings on dark antiques and intricate clothes. Her wardrobe was crammed with white negligees and ruffled underthings. No crosses and no mirrors, particularly not in her bedroom. White tapered candles stood in pewter sconces, and she would read late into the night by their smoky flickerings, scented and ruffled, hair combed loosely about her shoulders. She glanced at the window often.
She resented lovers – though she took them, thrilling to the fullness of blood and life in them – who insisted upon staying all night, burning their breakfast toast and making bitter coffee. Her kitchen, of course, held nothing but fresh ingredients and copper and ironware; to her chagrin, she could not do without ovens or stoves or refrigerators. Alone, she carried candles and bathed in cool water.
She waited, prepared. And at long last, her vampire lover began to come to her in dreams. The two of them floated across the moors, glided through the fields of heather. He carried her to his crumbling castle, undressing her, pulling off her diaphanous gown, caressing her lovely body until, at the height of passion, he bit into her neck, drawing the life out of her and replacing it with eternal damnation and eternal love.
She awoke from these dreams drenched in sweat and feeling exhausted. The kindergarten children would find her unusually quiet and self-absorbed, and it frightened them when she rubbed her spotless neck and smiled wistfully. Soon and soon and soon, her veins chanted, in prayer and anticipation. Soon.
The children were her only regret. She would not miss her inquisitive relatives and friends, the ones who frowned and studied her as if she were a portrait of someone they knew they were supposed to recognize; the ones who urged her to drop by for an hour, to come with them to films, to accompany them to the seashore; the ones who were connected to her – or thought they were – by the mere gesturing of the long and milky hands of Fate. Who sought to distract her from her one true passion; who sought to discover the secret of that passion. For, true to the sacredness of her vigil for her vampire lover, she had never spoken of him to a single earthbound soul. It would be beyond them, she knew. They would not comprehend a bond of such intentioned sacrifice.
But she would regret the children. Never would a child of their love coo and murmur in the darkness; never would his proud and noble features soften at the sight of the mother and her child of his loins. It was her single sorrow.
Her vacation was coming. June hovered like the mist and the children squirmed in anticipation. Their own true lives would begin in June. She empathized with the shining eyes and smiling faces, knowing their wait was as agonizing as her own. Silently, as the days closed in, she bade each of them a tender farewell, holding them as they threw their little arms around her neck and pressed fervent summertime kisses on her cheeks.
She booked her passage to London on a ship. Then to Romania, Bulgaria, Transylvania. The hereditary seat of her beloved; the fierce, violent backdrop of her dreams. Her suitcases opened themselves to her long, full skirts and her brooches and lockets. She peered into her hand mirror as she packed it. “I am getting pale,” she thought, and the idea both terrified and delighted her.
She became paler, thinner, more exhausted as her trip wore on. After recovering from the disappointment of the raucous, modern cruise ship, she raced across the Continent to find refuge in the creaky trains and taverns she had so yearned for. Her heart thrilled as she meandered past the black silhouettes of ruined fortresses and ancient manor houses. She sat for hours in the mists, praying for the howling wolf to find her, for the bat to come and join her.
She took to drinking wine in bed – deep, rich, blood-red burgundy that glowed in the candlelight. She melted into the landscape within days, and cringed as if from the crucifix itself when flickers of her past life, her false American existence, invaded her serenity. She did not keep a diary; she did not count the days as her summer slipped away from her. She only rejoiced that she grew weaker.
It was when she was counting out the coins for a Gypsy shawl that she realized she had no time left. Tomorrow she must make for Frankfurt and from there fly back to New York. The shopkeeper nudged her, inquiring if she were ill, and she left with her treasure, trembling.
She flung herself on her rented bed. “This will not do. This will not do,” she pleaded with the darkness. “You must come for me tonight. I have done everything for you, my beloved, loved you above all else. You must save me.” She sobbed until she ached.
She skipped her last meal of veal and paprika and sat quietly in her room. The innkeeper brought her yet another bottle of burgundy and after she assured him that she was quite all right, just a little tired, he wished his guest a pleasant trip home.
The night wore on; though her book was open before her, her eyes were riveted to the windows, her hands clenched around the wine glass as she sipped steadily, like a creature feeding. Oh, to feel him against her veins, emptying her and filling her!
Soon and soon and soon . . .
Then, all at once, it happened. The windows rattled, flapped inward. A great shadow, a curtain of ebony, fell across the bed, and the room began to whirl, faster, faster still; and she was consumed with a bitter, deathly chill. She heard, rather than saw, the wine glass crash to the floor, and struggled to keep her eyes open as she was overwhelmed, engulfed, taken.
“Is it you?” she managed to whisper through teeth that rattled with delight and cold and terror. “Is it finally to be?”
Freezing hands touched her everywhere: her fac
e, her breasts, the desperate offering of her arched neck. Frozen and strong and never-dying. Sinking, she smiled in a rictus of mortal dread and exultation. Eternal damnation, eternal love. Her vampire lover had come for her at last.
When her eyes opened again, she let out a howl and shrank against the searing brilliance of the sun. Hastily, they closed the curtains and quickly told her where she was: home again, where everything was warm and pleasant and she was safe from the disease that had nearly killed her.
She had been ill before she had left the States. By the time she had reached Transylvania, her anaemia had been acute. Had she never noticed her own pallor, her lassitude?
Anaemia. Her smile was a secret on her white lips. So they thought, but he had come for her, again and again. In her dreams. And on that night, he had meant to take her finally to his castle for ever, to crown her the best-beloved one, his love of the moors and the mists.
She had but to wait, and he would finish the deed.
Soon and soon and soon.
She let them fret over her, wrapping her in blankets in the last days of summer. She endured the forced cheer of her relatives, allowed them to feed her rich food and drink in hopes of restoring her.
But her stomach could no longer hold the nourishment of their kind; they wrung their hands and talked of stronger measures when it became clear that she was wasting away.
At the urging of the doctor, she took walks. Small ones at first, on painfully thin feet. Swathed in wool, cowering behind sunglasses, she took tiny steps like an old woman. As she moved through the summer hours, her neck burned with an ungovernable pain that would not cease until she rested in the shadows. Her stomach lurched at the sight of grocery-store windows. But at the butcher’s, she paused, and licked her lips at the sight of the raw, bloody meat.
But she did not go in. She grew neither worse nor better.
“I am trapped,” she whispered to the night as she stared into the flames of a candle by her bed. “I am disappearing between your world and mine, my beloved. Help me. Come for me.” She rubbed her neck, which ached and throbbed but showed no outward signs of his devotion. Her throat was parched, bone-dry, but water did not quench her thirst.
At long last, she dreamed again. Her vampire lover came for her as before, joyous in their reunion. They soared above the crooked trees at the foothills, streamed like black banners above the mountain crags to his castle. He could not touch her enough, worship her enough, and they were wild in their abandon as he carried her in her diaphanous gown to the gates of his fortress.
But at the entrance, he shook his head with sorrow and could not let her pass into the black realm with him. His fiery tears seared her neck, and she thrilled to the touch of the mark even as she cried out for him as he left her, fading into the vapours with a look of entreaty in his dark, flashing eyes.
Something was missing; he required a boon of her before he could bind her against his heart. A thing that she must give to him . . .
She walked in the sunlight, enfeebled, cowering. She thirsted, hungered, yearned. Still she dreamed of him, and still he could not take the last of her unto himself.
Days and nights and days. Her steps took her finally to the schoolyard, where once, only months before, she had embraced and kissed the children, thinking never to see them again. They were all there, who had kissed her cheeks so eagerly. Their silvery laughter was like the tinkling of bells as dust motes from their games whirled around their feet. How free they seemed to her who was so troubled, how content and at peace.
The children.
She shambled forwards, eyes widening behind the shields of smoky glass.
He required something of her first.
Her one regret. Her only sorrow.
She thirsted. The burns on her neck pulsated with pain.
Tears of gratitude welled in her eyes for the revelation that had not come too late. Weeping, she pushed open the gate of the schoolyard and reached out a skeleton-limb to a child standing apart from the rest, engrossed in a solitary game of cat’s cradle. Tawny-headed, ruddy-cheeked, filled with the blood and the life.
For him, as a token of their love.
“My little one, do you remember me?” she said softly.
The boy turned. And smiled back uncertainly in innocence and trust.
Then, as she came for him, swooped down on him like a great, winged thing, with eyes that burned through the glasses, teeth that flashed, once, twice . . .
Soon, soon, soon.
Eternity Embraced
Larissa Ione
Chapter 1
Andrea Cole had been hunting demons and vampires since she was eighteen, almost since the day she’d dropped out of college and returned home to witness both parents being torn apart by demons before her eyes. That was nine years, a hundred kills and two dozen broken bones ago. Killing evil creatures had never bothered her. Not once. But tonight was different.
Tonight she might have to kill the love of her life.
She gripped her stake so hard that she was surprised it didn’t crack. Silently, she eased down the damp, narrow staircase that led to an underground chamber beneath the Oregon billionaire’s mansion. The human scumbag was in league with demons who the Aegis, a society of human warriors protecting the world from evil, had been watching for two years. Andrea’s division, a special vampire investigative unit, had concentrated all its efforts on bringing this guy down, starting with the vampires he harboured on his property. Beneath it, anyway.
Recently, an Aegis Guardian had disappeared into the bowels of the mansion. Under the pretence of delivering a kitchen order from a local bakery, Kaden had snooped around and got lucky when he spotted the butler opening a secret panel in the pantry. He’d followed the butler down a staircase, speaking softly into his hidden microphone as he described everything he saw. At the bottom, he’d found himself in a giant chamber filled with torture devices, several cells, dozens of tunnels and, unfortunately, more vampires than he could combat.
Andrea had listened in horror as Kaden was overwhelmed. When the sound had cut off, something inside her had died, and she’d done nothing but live and breathe revenge ever since. And now, revenge was within her grasp, because at this very moment there were twenty Guardians swarming the mansion grounds, armed to the teeth and working on three separate missions.
One: Capture the billionaire scumbag, Blake Alden. Two: Kill as many vampires as possible. Three: Find Kaden.
Find Kaden so Andrea could kill him.
The thought rolled through her on a wave of nausea. Maybe he was OK. Maybe the vampires hadn’t turned him. And maybe she was freaking delusional, because she knew damned good and well they’d done it. Vamps got off on torturing Guardians – or worse, turning them. Nothing amused bloodsuckers more than dropping an enemy head first into their worst nightmare.
Cautiously, she stepped out of the stairwell and into a huge, cavernous basement. From the stone walls hung wicked-looking implements of torture. The floor was dirt. It wasn’t exactly a basement, it was more of a cave, with cells carved into the walls. The doors were solid slabs of metal, with only a small, eye-level slotted window shot through with steel bars.
Ahead were tunnels she’d be willing to bet led to living spaces, and dozens of exits that would come out all over Portland. Behind her, six Guardians filed out of the stairwell.
“This is weird,” Zach, a newer recruit, whispered. “There’s no one here.”
“They might have been tipped off and ran.” Andrea moved towards the cells. “Or it’s a trap and they’re hiding. Be careful.”
Zach and the others disappeared into the tunnels, leaving Andrea to clear the immediate area. The first cell was empty, the shackles on the walls hanging dejectedly from their chains. Some sort of spindly, man-sized demon occupied the second cell, cowering in a corner and trembling. A colleague would dispatch the pathetic creature later.
She moved on, slowing when the small hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she sid
estepped a dark stain on the ground. Her gaze tracked automatically to the ceiling. Above her, meat hooks swayed, grotesque even in the dim light from the wall sconces. And there, in the corner, were Kaden’s weapons, boots and shirt.
Andrea’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. Where was he? Forgetting caution, she checked the third cell. The fourth cell.
The fifth cell . . . Dear God, the fifth cell.
Inside, sitting with his back to the wall in nothing but jeans and a metal collar around his neck, was Kaden. Andrea’s breath lodged in her throat, her pulse went double-time, and though she knew better than to hope, she did exactly that.
“Kaden?”
His head swung around, his grey eyes bright and wide with surprise. His dark blond hair was alternately grooved and spiky, as though he’d been thrusting his fingers through it, and his tan skin was marred by fading bruises and cuts.
If the vampires had had him for the full two weeks he’d been missing, she was surprised he hadn’t been hurt more. Then again, maybe they had put him through hell, but he’d healed already, thanks to a vampire’s rapid regeneration abilities.
But so far, she saw no signs of him being turned. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be OK. God, please let it be OK.
“Kaden, don’t move. I’m going to get you out of there.”
“No!” He lurched forwards, only to be drawn short by the chain linking his collar to the wall. Panic put a chilling, grim light in his gaze. “You can’t.”
Dread draped over her like a shroud, suffocating her last breath of hope. She knew what he was going to say. She didn’t want to ask, but the question fell from her lips before she could stop it. “Why not?”
“Because,” he said, opening his mouth to reveal two extra-long canines, “I might kill you.”
Kaden Quinn braced himself for Andrea’s reaction. The sight of the stake in her hand put ice cubes in his blood – but whether his reaction was an instinctive one brought about by his new vampire status, or whether it was because he was a Guardian who knew exactly what that pointed shard of wood would do to him, he didn’t know.
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