Walking The Razor's Edge

by Ileandra Young

  She slumped to her knees. ‘I’m god-touched.’ The confession was the tiniest of whispers. ‘A vampire.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’ Shawn’s voice rose several octaves.

  ‘Do I look like I’m kidding?’

  He flinched. ‘No, no. I just—vampire? They’re not real. This is a joke, right, it has to be.’

  She turned away, gazing sightlessly at the open doors.

  Darryl stood. Brushed down his clothes. After a deep breath and a shake of his shoulders, he retrieved the fallen syringe and tossed it in. It landed near Lenina’s foot and rolled passed her, coasting to a stop near Shawn’s knee. ‘Stick that in her so we can go.’

  Silence filled the van.

  Shawn stared at the syringe as though it were about to grow teeth. ‘What?’

  ‘Ain’t no way I’m coming in there if she can metabolise this stuff so fast. She shouldn’t be awake let alone tearing up my flooring. Stick her and we’ll keep moving.’

  ‘Are you insane? You heard her—she thinks she’s a vampire.’

  Darryl chuckled. ‘Worse things out there than blood suckers, copper.’ The words were no sooner from his mouth than his eyes flickered to gold. Five claws extended from his fingernails, sharp, black and hard. ‘Much, much worse.’

  Shawn paled. He stared longingly at the open door then wedged himself into the furthest corner of the van. ‘You’re like her. Vampire?’ He closed his eyes. ‘This can’t be happening.’

  ‘He’s not a vampire,’ Lenina muttered. Though unsure of how, she knew it to be the truth.

  offered Saar.

  Puppy . . .

  It clicked. Lenina shuddered. ‘He’s a werewolf.’

  A grunt from Darryl served as confirmation. ‘I don’t get the fuss about you. If you’re as fancy-powerful as Red Fang keep saying, why didn’t you know that from the start? You defective, or something?’

  Part of her longed to fire off an angry retort. The rest of her couldn’t muster the strength. ‘I don’t know.’

  His gaze strayed to her left cheek. ‘They’ll know. If we ever get there. You,’ he glared at Shawn. ‘Stick that needle in her so we can get out of here. We’re attracting too much attention.’

  Shawn jerked his head from side to side.

  ‘Want me to come in there? I fancy I’m quick enough to dodge her and get to you. Remember . . . her, I need.’

  Desperation fluttered across Shawn’s face. He clutched the floor for several seconds before creeping forward, inch after reluctant inch. He grabbed the syringe. Tucked it against his chest. His fear billowed out in near palpable waves, lapping against Lenina’s senses like the delicious scent of baking bread.

  Saar growled.

  ‘Go on then.’ Darryl pointed. ‘She won’t hurt you. Me, she’d fillet like a trout, but apparently she’s got a soft spot for the humans.’

  Lenina’s shoulders slumped. She stared at her hands. Too much. All too much, too fast. The world began to spin again.

  Shawn’s hand trembled on the syringe, gripped clumsily as if unsure of how to use it. He shuffled forward. Then again. ‘Miss Miller?’

  She lifted her gaze to meet his. His startled yelp might have amused her in any other circumstances. ‘You’re actually going to do it, aren’t you?’

  ‘He will if he knows what’s good for him,’ snapped Darryl. ‘I’d rather not fight you, but I will if I have to. This way we all get to keep our skin.’

  The syringe wavered. ‘This morning I left the station to take a statement, now we’re—I don’t know what. You’re a vampire? For real?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Oh, man.’ Another toss of his head cleared the dreadlocks from his eyes. ‘And he’s a werewolf?’ He made a helpless gesture with his free hand. ‘But can’t you fight them? You’re strong—can’t we get away?’

  Lenina longed to know the same thing. Instead of the fear of that morning she felt hollow and distant. As if viewing the conversation from behind plate glass. Could this be what shock felt like?

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  He turned the syringe over in his hands. ‘I don’t want to do this. Please believe me. But if you can’t get us out . . . I don’t want to die in this van.’

  Lenina toyed with the chains. Thought better of it. She put both hands in her lap and shifted to a more comfortable position. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

  Still he hesitated. His forehead wrinkled. ‘I would never normally—I’m a police officer. I swore to protect innocent people.’

  ‘I’m not innocent.’

  Stillness. Then shuffling. Warm hands against her wrist, rolling back her sleeve as far as it would go. A finger pressing into the crook of her elbow. Warm breath gusted against her cheek.

  This close the pounding of Shawn’s heart was a rolling drum beat in her ears.

  The hunger rose just as a second sharp prick scratched the inside of her arm.

  More numbing cold.

  This time, when darkness swept in, Lenina welcomed the velvet black embrace of oblivion.

  #

  Nick lay beside her on a bed of red satin. His fingers traced the side of her face, following the curve of her jaw before settling on her lips. He grinned. ‘You have the best mouth. I want to kiss it all the time. You’re like a drug.’ His pleasure made the South African twang of his accent pitch and dip.

  Lenina rolled away and shuffled on to her knees. As Nick lay back, she straddled his waist, pushing his shirt up to expose the flatness of his stomach. A fine dusting of golden hair circled his belly button and trailed down, vanishing into the waistband of his jeans. More went the other way, thickening as it reached his chest.

  ‘Ek het jou lief,’ she murmured.

  Delight filled Nick’s eyes. ‘I love you too, babe. And you’ve been practising. Maybe one day I’ll take you home, né? Show you my old haunts?’

  ‘Mmm . . .’ Lenina kissed his chest, grinning as his hips rolled beneath hers. His pectorals twitched and she kissed him again, grinning when he closed his eyes.

  ‘Tease,’ he murmured.

  ‘You know it.’

  He smiled at her, toying with the ends of her braids as she leaned in for another kiss. He was still smiling when she fastened her lips to the side of his throat and sucked at the pale flesh. He groaned. ‘That’s nice, babe . . . so good.’

  Lenina opened her mouth and pressed her teeth to his skin. It gave slightly beneath the points of her fangs. When she pressed harder, sweet, liquid warmth welled up and splashed her tongue.

  Nick screamed.

  #

  Lenina jerked up, then immediately fell back, gagging as the collar about her throat pressed in. She gasped, gazing at the ceiling while her stomach turned and gurgled.

 

  She blinked away the fog of confusion and forced her eyes to focus.

  A single bare bulb in a wooden ceiling. Metal walls. Chains, criss-crossing her body. Broken links scattered like shrapnel.

  Van.

  To her left, smeared against the wall, Shawn stared with eyes wide and round behind his wonky glasses. His bottom lip trembled. ‘You okay?’

  A ripple of hunger flowed through her belly. The presence inside her purred and turned its attention to the only source of food in sight.

 

  It seemed like such a good suggestion. Sensible. Desirable.

  Lenina shuffled towards him, sniffing sharply. A spicy scent assaulted her nostrils. Hot. Tart. Mouth-watering.

  ‘Miss Miller?’ Shawn saw her face. His jaw dropped. Understanding drained the colour from his cheeks. ‘Wait. Please, wait a second. Listen to me, Miss Miller. Lenina?’

 

  ‘Yes . . .’ Lenina paused, gathering her feet beneath her in preparation to spring.

  ‘Don’t!’ His breath escalated. Each breath expelled a puff of t
error so strong, Lenina could almost taste it.

  She tensed.

  ‘Help!’ Shawn hammered on the side of the van, wedging himself back into that far corner. ‘Hello! Anybody? She’s gone mad. Someone, please.’

  The doors sprang open.

  Only then did Lenina realise the van was stationary. She hissed at the shaft of watery sunlight outside and glared at Darryl silhouetted in its centre.

  Saar cackled.

  Lenina lunged. Darryl dived. Six inches from Shawn’s face, his hand closed about her ankle and yanked her back.

  The floor thudded against her chest and shoulders. She twisted, snarling like an animal. ‘I’ll kill you!’

  The flood of cold spreading from her calf down told her the needle had hit home.

  Lenina kicked out. Her heel slammed into his nose.

  Blood burst into the air, a thick red gush.

  Darryl grunted. Swore. Rolled aside.

  The syringe protruded from her calf, half the liquid still in the chamber. Lenina jerked it free and hurled it against the wall.

 

  A tiny voice argued with Saar’s advice, but it was so small, so distant, Lenina barely heard it. She lurched forward, straining against the remaining chains towards the human huddled in the corner. Towards the food. Towards the blood.

  Loud voices exploded in her ears. One inside the van, some outside, one whispered directly into the deepest corners of her mind. She shook her head as if to dislodge it, but the voice persisted, soft, sibilant and searching.

  ‘No . . .’ She tumbled forward. Struck the edge of the van. Her palm slapped into the edge of the door but her body kept going, tumbling over the edge and half way to the ground. The collar stopped her descent with a breath-stealing jerk.

  Stars burst across her vision. Spots of purple and green.

  Two strong hands grabbed her ankles. Heaved her back into the van.

  Sweet, sweet air rushed back into her lungs and she gasped, choking and spluttering.

  Shawn crouched near her face, poised on his toes as if to dart away again. ‘Can you breathe?’

  She groaned. Even that small sound seared her throat.

  ‘Lie still. Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth.’

  ‘No.’ Lenina rolled to her front. Scrambled backwards into the van. ‘He’s coming.’ She looked for somewhere to run, but the world was spinning again, round and round, up and down, colours blurring in and out of incoherent shapes.

  The voice whispered again. Louder. Not Saar’s authoritative monotone or the frantic jabber of her own memories but something new. This voice stroked. Soothed. It caressed her in places no hand could ever touch and with it came the homely aroma of peppermint.

  Darryl reared in the doorway, blood pumping from his mangled nose. He spat a glob of red sputum on the gravel and blinked the gold colour back into his eyes. ‘I ain’t got time for this, girlie—Kallisto’s waiting.’ An instant later he jerked around, glaring at something just beyond the open door. ‘What the bleeding hell are you doing here, blood sucker?’ A snarl oozed through clenched teeth.

  Lenina closed her eyes. She didn’t need to see to know who it was. The quickening of her body, the heat in her stomach, the hot tingle in deep, intimate places could be the work of only one man.

  There was one thing in the world she wanted more than the ecstatic sweetness of blood in her mouth. The knowledge sickened her to the very core.

 

  Tristen Blake stepped into view, smiling that brilliant smile. His eyes glowed an eerie, ghostly white. ‘There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

  Chapter Five

  Lenina caught a vague impression of large, spacious corridors. Wood panelling. Dark wallpaper. Large oil paintings. Everything about Red Fang headquarters proclaimed wealth and age, from the thick burgundy carpets to the candle chandeliers offering flickering light of a soft, golden hue.

  Her arm itched beneath Tristen’s hand. She longed to pull away but fear kept her silent and docile.

  She could feel him now, filling her mind with his scent and the memory of his touch. Much as she tried to deny it, the tingle in her skin was not merely a product of discomfort and loathing.

  Had Saar the body to do it, he might have rolled his eyes. Instead he paced in sullen silence occasionally growling at Tristen’s nearness.

  Lenina bit her lip over a scream. What she felt was anything but love. Lust, yes, but no more than a cheap trick—product of sly mind games and Tristen’s devious use of sex in her weakened, emotional state. Couple that with the fact that he had become her god-touched sire by unfortunate default, there was little she could do to keep him out. Especially with skin to skin contact.

 

  She stumbled, caught off guard by Saar’s apparent ability to read her thoughts.

  ‘Steady, Lenina. Let’s not start the fireworks too soon.’ Tristen smirked and dropped his hand from her arm to curl around her waist. A smooth, practised move that reeked of familiarity. He pressed close and increased his pace. ‘Nearly there.’

  I hate him. She curled her shackled hands into fists. He tried to kill me.

 

  The idea brought a smile to her lips. For all of a second. I’m not a killer—I don’t want to be.

 

  That wasn’t my fault!

 

  She gritted her teeth. This isn’t war.

 

  She left the bitter vampire to his murmurings, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

  At her side, Darryl guided Shawn with a hand on the back of his neck, holding him the way one might restrain an overexcited puppy. With his hands still cuffed behind his back, the officer could do no more than trot to keep up and try not to trip on the carpet.

  Behind them all strode Greasy-Luke his hands clasped before him at hip height.

  Tristen led them up a vast stair case with steps as wide as a dining table. They curved up in a gentle sweep against one wall lined with portraits. Each image topped a small brass plate, with name and date picked out in black.

  Jebediah Smith-Peterson, 1892. Edward Smith-Peterson, 1859. Johnathan Smith-Peterson, 1789. George Smith-Peterson, 1712. Emmanuel Smith-Peterson, 1673.

  As the stairs progressed, the paintings increased with age and Lenina could no longer read the tarnished nameplates. At the top, the grip on her waist guided her left and along a narrow corridor with more panelled walls and a soft green carpet.

  A door to the right stood open. Through it came the scent of old paper. Mustiness. Dust. Leather.

  Lenina knew before entering the room served as a library. The walls confirmed the fact: dozens upon dozens of shelves, rammed with books of varying heights and thicknesses. The air strained under a weight usually reserved for funeral homes, though something else lingered there too. A silent, looming menace.

  Behind a desk in the centre sat a woman with long, bottle-red hair. She smiled as Lenina met her gaze and pushed aside the keyboard she had been using. Beside her, at a lower desk, with a toy keyboard and monitor, sat a girl of about six years, with rich, dark skin and long flowing hair.

  Saar gave a sudden, frantic leap, hammering at the bars of his mental cage, screeching like a madman. He moved so fast that Lenina barely caught him, stumbling and falling as she grappled for control. The floor rushed up to meet her, but it never quite got there.

  Tristen’s arm tightened around her, jerking her to him until they stood crushed together, chest to chest, nose to nose. Their lips brushed.

  More . . .

  Lenina jerked back, hating herself.

  He grinned.

  She scrubbed her lips w
ith the back of her hand.

  ‘Blood suckers . . .’ Darryl pushed his way into the room and closer to the larger desk. He glanced at the child then fixed his attention on the red-haired woman. When she arched an eyebrow, he stiffened and shot a glance at Luke. The smaller man glared back, a challenge in his narrow black eyes.

  Sighing, Darryl shifted his grip on Shawn and sank to one knee, pressing the knuckles of his free hand against the carpet. After a moment of tense silence Luke followed suit, though his knee barely touched the ground before he was upright once more.

  Lenina frowned at them both. She opened her mouth but Tristen chose that moment to step out to the side. He knelt and yanked her to the ground beside him. Instead of pressing his fist to the floor, he touched the inside of his wrist against his lips, then turned it towards the red-haired woman.

  ‘I am Kallisto,’ she intoned, her voice deep and slow. ‘First Majestic and leader of Red Fang in England. You did well to accept my invitation, Lenina Miller. Welcome to my home.’

  Saar growled and beat again at his prison. Within seconds, Lenina was trembling with the effort to keep him at bay. The chains dangling from her wrists and throat clattered in the stillness.

  Soft laughter came from the young girl. She tossed her hair, then leaned against the miniature desk, crossing her legs and folding her arms in a near perfect imitation of the older woman. ‘We invited you,’ she sang.

  Lenina shivered. ‘Invitation? This is kidnap.’

  ‘Impudence. Do you not understand who I am? What I could do to you?’

  Saar laughed.

  Lenina joined him. Fear, panic, true mirth, she could no longer tell, but her shoulders bucked for several seconds.

  ‘My words amuse you? I could strip the skin from your flesh an inch at a time. You would beg me to die.’

  Tristen’s fingertips dug deep into her elbow. ‘What are you doing?’

  Lenina turned her stunned gaze on him. ‘But she’s not Kallisto—you know that, right?’

  Darryl gave her a startled look. He scrambled to his feet and jerked Shawn back against the wall. Luke followed at a slower pace, thoughtfully stroking the tufts of dark hair on the end of his pointed chin.

  The red-haired woman spluttered a laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous—of course I’m Kallisto. How dare—’