Death Eater
The Complete Collection
Catherine Stovall
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Text Copyright ©2017
All rights reserved
Published by
CLS Publications
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.
This Book is Dedicated to:
The band, Volbeat, whose song, The Nameless One, inspired this series.
And t oMwith Love.
Acknowledgements
As always, I send thanks out to the many people behind my madness.
To my children for teaching me to dream with my eyes wide open.
To my family for believing in me and supporting me.
To my friends for encouraging the voices in my head.
To Samantha Ketteman for the endless phone conversations and online chats while writing this book and so many others.
To Samantha Hebrock for being my biggest fan.
To My Freaks, Geeks, and Ducky Dears.
Together we will chase the sun, howl at the moon, and reach for the stars!
Condemned to Die
Book One: The Death Eater Series
“Death is the only pure, beautiful conclusion of a great passion.”
~ DH Lawrence
Chapter One
Vega Williams had died with sorrow in her heart and a hypodermic needle full of heroin in her veins. She lay in the shiny new coffin, framed by black satin. A bed of white lilies peeked around her frail body, and bleeding hearts clung to her gold and auburn curls. Death had stolen the mischievous smile from her rose-pink lips and shut her sparkling green eyes on the world. Her small hands were clasped, a single wilting bloom beneath laced fingers. What she once was, would be no more.
The songs she had loved drifted through the heavy air, muted by somber intentions. Crooning voices sang of all the memories they had represented for her. She had loved and lived by the sound of another human being’s sufferings and joy, set to the tempos that could move her body or move her to tears. In life, she had treasured the melodies as much as she had the memories they produced.
The congregation sat with watering eyes and reddened noses, crying for a loss they had yet to comprehend. Without the girl’s light, their worlds would turn as dark as their mourning clothes. Out of the general population packed into the uncomfortable pews, few had ever truly known the beautiful soul that had once resided inside the fragile human frame.
Lovers, friends, and those tied by blood had all been too blinded by selfish need. They had failed the wandering spirit. Only one heart in the room felt the ache of her loss as it should have been felt.
Zane Allistor had entered after the finely dressed parade of pretending grievers had all found their seats. He stood in the very back, half concealed behind the arrays of flowers adding a sticky sweetness to the stale air. His glorious blue eyes brimmed with tears, and his full lips turned down in a menacing scowl. The black t-shirt spreading tightly over his chest, ripped jeans that were more than fashionably distressed, and the well-used work boots on his feet were all clear statements of his outsider status among Oaksdale’s elitist upper class.
However, the real reason he stood out from the crowd inside the funeral home was much more powerful. He hated the soul-sucking fools who had destroyed more than just one girl, one life. The fire of that disgust and abhorrence burned in his watery eyes, and fueled the raging inferno inside the human shell he wore as a disguise.
A pastor stood at the front of the room, his face a mixture of sorrow and appropriate bereavement. The light shadowing of emotion he had painted on his face was not as bone deep as it should have been. He wore a mask of gentility to conceal his lack of concern, so the next family to lose a loved one would line his pockets with a hefty fee.
In a voice too lively, nearly manic, he spoke like a televangelist. Each sentence punctuated with a lift in tone to punctuate the importance of his words and a fierce jab of his stubby finger.
A dark cloud of rage built up inside Zane. He knew Vega wouldn’t have wanted a church, or a pastor reading passages and saying prayers. She would have wanted a celebration of life, not a bible study with her name thrown in for propriety’s sake. More than anything, he knew Vega should not be dead. The tragedies were stacked as high as the money the frauds at the funeral had in their banks.
The procession began, and the time came for final goodbyes. One by one, the people made the long walk to where Vega lay like a sleeping beauty in her bed of eternity. Zane listened closely, both to the words the sheep whispered and to the thoughts within their bleak and suffocating little minds. But, the more he saw and heard, the more he wanted to destroy.
He had only come to linger among the living dead, seek out the inner workings of the society of counterfeit personalities, and find those responsible for Vegas death. But, after everything he’d witnessed, hunger became just as much of his reason as revenge.
A blood debt was owed, and it was his duty to collect it—pound by fleshy pound and drop by bloody drop.
Zane focused on the woman approaching the casket. Back straight and shoulders untouched by burden, she stood out from the others like a beacon in the dark. Even the curve of her neck gently sloping upward to meet her tightly bound curls seemed to lure him closer.
Hungry for the taste of revenge, Zane reached outward with his power. The invisible tentacle slithered through the crowd and pressed against the luscious dip at the base of the woman’s skull, causing her sure step to falter.
A slight chill danced down her spine, and she shivered before approaching the wooden box holding her daughter’s mortal shell. Bending over, Alyvia Bellator pretended to place a mother’s loving kiss on her daughter’s cheek. Only she and Zane knew the heartless words inside her mind.
Ugh, such a disgusting custom. If it weren’t for old Aunt Beatrice, I wouldn’t even bother to get this close. At least she looks good.
The congregation, however, saw a woman break as her sobs grew just loud enough to be heard in the back row without seeming dramatic. Her stage whisper goodbye had been rehearsed and fell from her lips with ease, almost flawlessly executed.
“Oh, my baby. My darling girl. Vega, honey, I will miss you so much. You’ll always be in my heart, my—”
Alyvia lost her place as Zane read the guilt written in her memories. With a wicked smile on his lips, he pressed the power against her brain. His whispered name down the twisting length of their connection would leave his mark branded on her cerebellum so he could return anytime he pleased.
The pause came at a perfect time. The others would think Alyvia had simply become too emotional as Zane ended her pathetic tribute of false confessions of love with a small push against the woman’s guilty mind to trigger a shock of pain. Just a little taste of what he had in store for the woman he held most responsible for the girl’s death.
Michael Bellator briefly hugged his wife’s firm body before stepping up to view the deceased. Curiosity stroked Zane’s mind, and he shifted from Alyvia’s inner barriers. The tentacle of power slipped into her husband.
While exposed to so many people, wading through the haze of alcohol the man had drowned his stepd
aughter’s death in was dangerous. But Zane forced his way deeper into the muddled confines of the brain. He had no choice. He must have answers.
Michael kissed Vega’s cheek, and Zane was pleased to see no thoughts of disgust filter into the man’s mind. Vega’s stepfather experienced true sorrow, and even his words coming through the connection were steeped in misery.
It’s too soon. She’s too young. What a waste. It should have been her mother.
Michael’s hopes bloomed through the connection. All he wanted was to break the callous bubble surrounding Alyvia as he reached out to ensnare her hand. If she could just stop pretending long enough to really care, he might forgive her. Leaning forward, Vega’s father wished a private farewell to the girl he had loved.
“You were the daughter I always wanted and couldn’t have. I hope you are finally at rest, Vega. I love you.”
Zane pulled away gently, leaving the man unbranded. He liked the vein of meanness running like black molasses through Michael’s mind, but the sins within those thoughts were not the ones he sought. A slight smile curved his lips, though the sorrow still glistened in his eyes like dying stars.
Soon, Old Man, you will get your wish, and the mother will lie in Vega’s place.
One by one, the line commenced. The mourners’ callous thoughts angered him, but none of the vicious barbs of inner dialog were enough to condemn any one person. Zane sought out a particular theme in their depravity. He didn’t care about their hatred for others, their lusts, or their lies. If none of those things had been directed at Vega, the thinker remained safe.
As he drifted through mundane memories and visions of the girl he’d loved, Zane thought of the injustice. Her life had been a collage of abandonment and abuse. With an absent biological father and an uncaring mother, Vega had teetered on the edge of death for too long. In a single night, she had careened into an abyss of depression. Those guilty of sending his precious girl into a drug induced end were the ones he wanted.
Bored with the endless parade of weepy old women, whose thoughts could make a prostitute blush, Zane allowed his intense focus to slacken. He didn’t see the dark-skinned young woman until her brain waves hit him hard enough to make him fall back against the paneled wall. He tightened his control and gently probed beneath the layers of silky black hair until her brain became an open book. What he saw there was not shocking, but it still tugged at the soreness already enveloping his heart.
So, you are the little bitch that tried to break my Vega’s spirit. He held the thought to himself, not allowing his hate to breach the connection with her. For the tall, curvy girl, he had to pause and give special consideration to the situation.
Zane peeled away the first barriers and stepped inside Claire Whitney’s mind. As he suspected, jealousy and spite filled her. She owed a debt to Vega, but he was unsure if it was the kind he most loved to extract. Excitement mounting, he quickly culled the greedy need stirring inside of his black soul and forced himself to listen.
Even now that she’s dead, her hair still looks good. God forbid little miss perfect could have a hair out of place. I bet my funeral will be much bigger.
As her inner voice spat the words, Zane stroked the girl’s hypothalamus, encouraging the envy to grow. He fed his own energy into the small portion of her corroded brain until her thoughts darkened so much they frightened her.
Poor little Vega, just as flashy and gaudy as the city she was named after. She had it all and just threw it away. Stupid girl, she deserved to die.
Entertained by the spike of fear pulsing through her body, Zane missed her verbal adieu. He wondered if she had managed to sound convincing. Probably not, he decided as he pulled back, leaving nothing behind other than her own cesspool of thoughts.
Claire was a spiteful and mean-spirited bitch, but she hadn’t been the cause of Vega’s demise. Typical young girls clawing at each other with words and looks did not warrant death. He felt confident, when she matured, the guilt of her petty hate would be torment enough.
After Claire, a small group of Vega’s acquaintances drifted through the line. Zane only extended his touch to each one long enough to taste their innocent minds and genuine sadness. He wanted to laugh at the virtuousness of the women. Truly decent people were a rarity, and the lack of taint in such always amused him. No ill will to be found, he looked to see the next face that would take the final five steps to peer inside the casket.
Zane’s pulse double when he spotted Briton Hadley step forward. The unseen feeler of power drew back, curling like a snake preparing to strike. A small slither of the pulsating mental cord snuck into the boy’s mind.
He had come to this place knowing Vega had loved another during her brief time among the sheep of Oaksdale, but when confronted with seeing Briton, Zane’s hidden nature growled like a caged beast. He tried to control his jealousy, but his suspicions ran high. Shoving his hands deep in his pockets and leaning back against the wall, he waited for the perfect moment.
Zane looked his enemy over as he flicked through the shallow layers of the brain. Six-foot-tall and nearly two-foot-wide at the shoulders, Briton’s all-American good looks were both his edge in life and his good fortune. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a chiseled chin, and a dimpled smile all came together to pull people to him as if he were a magnet. Unfortunately, those misled hopefuls were met with an unintelligent arrogance and a cruel sense of humor that bordered on insanity.
Briton did not bend to kiss the body. Zane could see it in his mind that the boy had been told to, but there was no way he was doing so. Instead, he stared down at Vega without seeing. His lips moved as his eyes peeked sideways at the crowd. Mimicking his way through the required act of speaking to his dead ex-girlfriend, he thought of another woman.
This is such bullshit. Vega did this to herself. Not my fault she was so screwed up in the head she couldn’t deal. Wow. Alyvia looks hot. My god, she doesn’t know what she’s doing to people with her skirt riding up her thigh like that.
Zane chose that moment to release his power. The coiled tendril struck hard at the base of Briton’s skull, bringing its unsuspecting victim to his knees. The tears that should’ve already been there leapt into the boy’s eyes, and a single name screamed against the frontal lobes as he crumpled. People moved to his side, offering comfort and thinking him a victim of grief.
Zane blinded Briton with pain. A vivid image of Vega’s crying eyes pushed through the connection, forcing itself into the boy’s mind.
The crowd around Briton filled with buzzing thoughts and energy, and Zane drank them in, feeding the monster inside. His plan had been set in motion with the final mark being placed. Two minds were his for the taking, like plucking ripened fruit from the vine. He felt giddy in his anticipation as he slipped out a side door, unnoticed.
Mounting his bike, Zane smashed his helmet down over his head as the engine roared to life between his legs. His movements were automatic—leaning into the curves as he tore through the streets at breakneck speed and trying to put the pain of death as far behind him as he could. The world beyond his face mask was a blur of memory and heat. Hot July air rushed against his skin, reminding him of summer days from his past.
The star of those recollections was a young girl with blonde curls and natural auburn highlights. Her flashing green eyes and soft laughter poured from her like a bubbling fountain. The touch of her hand on his, the whisper of her breath at his ear, and the warmth of her embrace all washed over him as he dodged recklessly through the quiet community.
The mental images served as a catalyst, the nudge that sent him over the line between conscious act and monstrous instinct. Arms open to embrace the insanity burning inside him, he took the last step over the metaphorical edge.
An hour later, Zane watched from the outskirts of the cemetery. A lit cigarette hung from his lips and dark glasses covered his shocking blue eyes. The pastor went on and on, dabbing furiously at his brow with a white handkerchief. The crowd shuffled, uncomfortable in the
ir heavy funeral finery as the summer sun blazed down on them like the fires of hell.
Every mind in the crowd shared a single thought. Shut up, Preacher Jack!
At last, the windy clergyman spoke the final words. “In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God: Vega Michelle Williams. We commit her body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.”
Alyvia stepped forward, clinging desperately to her husband, and laid a single white rose on the casket of her fallen daughter. Even in that iconic gesture, the woman showed no knowledge of her child.
The urge to walk up and snatch the flower from its place rode him hard, but Zane scoffed and crushed his spent cigarette beneath his boot and shook his head. He had made sure Vega went to her rest on a bed of white lilies. His mental tampering had even been the trigger behind the woman putting the bleeding hearts in Vega’s hair.
He mentally screamed, Vega hated roses, especially white ones. Colorless weeds is what she would have deemed such a tribute.
Disgusted with all he had witnessed, and ready to begin the reaping, Zane walked away with a single tear sliding down the shallow grooves beneath high set cheekbones.
Chapter Two
Zane stood in the shadows of a moonless night, watching as Briton pulled his sleek, black Camaro into the driveway. He had spent the night tracking his victim, waiting for the perfect opportunity to slip inside his enemy’s mind. For one glorious second, he had considered striking while the boy sat at the dinner table with his sallow-faced family. In the end, he had reconsidered, but only because suicides were rarely committed over a portion of roasted duck.
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