Exhumed

by Skyla Dawn Cameron

  I wanted him. Wanted him in a way that made my chest ache. Because he was betrayed and damaged under all the guards he put up, because he just created a freakin’ sun knowing I hadn’t seen it in centuries, because I wanted to spend the next year unwrapping all his layers to see exactly what kind of man awaited me on the inside.

  The intensity of that want scared me; I nearly hightailed it out of there just to escape it. But I’d never failed at seduction before and maybe if I got him out of my system—maybe if I confronted all that want—it would lessen a bit and I’d feel less terrified.

  I tried a casual smile. “C’mon...you’re pretty. I’m pretty. We could be pretty together.”

  I gave myself yet another mental shake, snapped my eyes closed for an instant. Fucking hell, I missed him. I missed the banter. I missed the sexual tension. I missed his integrity and his honesty and his sheer bloody stubbornness that made him fight to keep wounded strangers alive, to follow me into hell and bring me back so I wasn’t alone in the dark place.

  I’d prepared. Knew he might be crazy. Knew I might have to stake him because some new vampires just didn’t come through the transformation.

  But I never expected it would hurt this much.

  I leaned over, near his face. Ran my hand back through his hair, easing it from his eyes, fingers skimming his smooth, smooth skin. “You’re hungry?” I said in a voice that didn’t shake, didn’t betray my fear. Tension crept up my spine, squeezed at my shoulders.

  He nodded, slowly.

  “If you hurt me,” I continued, tone even, “I can’t help you feed.” I reached for the straw and blood pouch. “Understand?”

  Another nod, gaze locked on the blood, so intense. So hungry. He’d stared at my throat that way and if he’d managed to catch me, if I hadn’t knocked him out...

  Vampires could survive a lot. I had survived a lot, and the possibilities still freaked the shit out of me.

  I glanced back at Nic and didn’t need to say anything; she knew and was already on her way over, to the other side of the bed. She knelt near his head and he jerked, sending a nervous gaze her way. I bit back words of assurance because he didn’t know who I was either—wouldn’t listen to me. She eased back the duct tape over his mouth and then loosened the rope. It fell away, hanging loosely on his throat. The corners of his lips were red and raw. Lips themselves were chaffed and dry.

  His eyes widened suddenly, softened, going back to their regular piercing blue as he stared at me, and redness rose around their edges. “I don’t remember your name,” he whispered.

  Shit, I couldn’t cry. Not in front of these people. Not even as my heart broke just staring at him and I wanted nothing more than to make him okay again. Instead I swallowed nervously, pressed the straw into the pouch until it pierced plastic, and held it to him. “Drink.”

  He leaned forward, lips wrapping around the straw, and red ran up, up, until the clear plastic was nothing but crimson. The warm bag shifted under my grip, flattening and crackling, as he downed it like water. Soon the bag was sucked dry, remnants of red running up the sides and lines puckering in the plastic. I eased it away and he slumped back on the pillow, chest heaving, a pleasant pink glow in his cheeks. Heat radiated from him and I wanted to reach out, wanted to touch, wanted to curl up with him and close my eyes and just feel his heart beat against my ear again, pretending it was all okay. At some point Nic had stepped back from the bed and I heard the collection of heartbeats well behind me, near the door.

  “Gimme a minute,” I ordered without looking back and they all retreated. Left the door open, though, which was wise—he could still kill me.

  He blinked a few times and I waited, hoping to see lucidity somewhere, anywhere on him. Please. PLEASE come back to me... But there was nothing. Nate stared up at the ceiling sadly, like he saw something I didn’t. Like he knew his head wasn’t quite on right and he couldn’t figure out why.

  I should leave him. Go down, make the plan. But if roles were reversed, he wouldn’t leave me. Hell, I’d been turning into a bloodthirsty monster and he threatened to slash his own throat if I wouldn’t drink willingly.

  I reached out again, smoothing any remaining strands of dark brown hair from his face. It couldn’t be comfortable with his hands and legs tied like that, but he didn’t struggle, didn’t complain.

  I’m going to fix you. I swear to every motherfucking god there is, I will fix you.

  “Did I cover the windows?”

  A tear hit my cheek. I swiped at it, hand jerky, and then returned my fingers to his brow. “Yeah. They’re all covered up. You did that and took a shower. I woke up and found them covered already, and went and joined you.”

  “That’s right,” he whispered, blinking like he just remembered. “You won’t burn.”

  “Nope. Sunrise can’t hurt us.”

  He sighed. “Good. I’m tired.”

  “Sleep now. I’ll be back.”

  Just as I started to move, he stared at me, eyes locking, holding me in place like he’d grabbed me by the shoulders, and I halted. “I remember you. Just...not your name.”

  “What do you remember?” I will not like the answer to this—Zara, you’re a fucking idiot for asking...

  A sigh. Swallow, his throat working. He blinked a few times at the ceiling and frowned. “I remember the sun. You were beautiful in it.”

  First the rounded edge of a fiery orange sphere peeked around from behind some unseen obstacle, then gradually it grew. My body tensed, ready to run, waiting for the hot burn on my skin, the agony pouring through me.

  It didn’t happen. The sun stretched across the apartment ceiling until it illuminated the entire room, bathing us both in light. My bare skin warmed in the sunlight, my hair and dark clothes burned.

  It was beautiful. So many years and I hadn’t really thought about the sun, hadn’t wondered about what I was missing. When I lived, the sun made for long days in the garden, harsh on skin and bearer of headaches in the summer. But this...this was glorious.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, drinking in the heat and savoring the feeling. When I opened them again, Nate was watching me. I don’t know whether it was the faux sunlight radiating from his taut skin, or perhaps that he had created the sunlight itself, but I was suddenly very aware of him—his breathing, his heartbeat, and the hot blood coursing through him.

  And in the light, he was gorgeous.

  “Are you mad?” he said, voice strained. He stared at me and I saw a flash of it again, the damaged, broken young Nate there gazing out at me from the equally broken but still good man he’d grown up to be.

  Oh hell. How was I supposed to do this? “No, baby, I’m not mad.”

  “Good.” He settled into the pillow. “Will you tell me your name?”

  Another tear and I casually wiped it away. “Nope. You’re going to remember it on your own.” You’d have that kind of faith in me—I can have it in you.

  A little line of worry settled between his brows, whatever memory he tried to grab a hold of seeming too difficult to catch. “I’m pretty sure I loved you, though.”

  Fuck. My heart squeezed and I plastered on a smile. “Yeah. You did. And that’s enough for now.”

  Another long look at me, and he shut his eyes, fell into slumber.

  He wasn’t sane, but he was...calm. Not trying to kill me. I’d keep him bound but hold off on gagging him again, at least for now.

  I took a deep breath I didn’t actually need but sometimes random human things like that steadied me, and rose. My back was steeled, head lifted, shoulders squared as I walked. I pulled up all those girly, soft, frightened feelings and locked them away, hid them. I had my armour up now, metal plating that couldn’t be touched, and I wouldn’t let it down again until I got this thing done. I shut the bedroom door behind me, thumped down the stairs, and headed for the living room. A light burned by the couch, all of them sitting there in a clump, watching me.

  And I didn’t give them a chance to say a damn wo
rd. “First, we need Peter. Whatever he tells us we need, we get. Whatever Nate needs, he gets. No one is leaving this apartment until my boyfriend is fixed and so help me god, I will break your motherfucking legs if you try to go anywhere. Any questions?”

  Chapter Four

  Dearly Departed Demonologist

  Ryann, for all her yearlong excursion into the secular world, still wasn’t on board with séances and kept herself off to the side, steady gaze on Ellie. The cross at her throat sent more light at me accusingly, as if her god didn’t approve. Probably ’cause I sincerely doubted his existence. I did my best to ignore her silent judgmentalness, though I hadn’t yet ruled out the possibility of keeping her tied up and out of trouble downstairs.

  Ellie sat happily in the middle of the floor, a tall tumbler in his grasp. It was three quarters of the way full with ice and honey-coloured whiskey the rest of the way. He wore a dark T-shirt and baggy jeans, shoulders looking pointed in the cotton over them—he’d lost some weight and never really put it back on. Kid was skinny to begin with, drinking more than he ate to quiet the noise in his head. Possession by Sean last fall had not been kind to him. I’d paid for a holiday for them, sent them away for two whole months around Christmas, but he wasn’t the same shaggy redheaded brat he had been—now he was even more broken.

  But I refused to feel bad. Peter wouldn’t hurt him—I could guarantee that. And right now I didn’t know anyone else who could make contact for me, or anyone other than our resident dead demonologist who might offer solutions for fixing deranged vampires.

  Nic and Peri also sat on the floor, the latter blessedly silent. I paced three feet away, unable to keep still long enough to sit with them, aware with every step that he was just up the stairs, sleeping, trapped in the dark place like I had been so many times.

  Stupid Technicolor dreams. “No. You’re dead.”

  Then I felt his hand on my face—his fingers so hot they seared my skin—and he looked deep into my eyes. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

  Oh my god. My throat got lumpy—he came for me. I wasn’t alone. He fucking came back for me, didn’t leave me alone. Not alone.

  No, I wasn’t going to sit there all calm on the floor, couldn’t keep still—I’d move until exhaustion hit me and then keep going until I passed out. He’d do it for me.

  Ellie took a long drink from his glass tumbler, ice clinking together and banging his teeth, then set the cup down. “He says it feels like it’s been a while.”

  But of course, Peter was there—didn’t even need to be summoned. The flicker of relief I felt seeped away remembering why we’d come calling.

  I tipped my head in a tight nod. “Pete.”

  “He’s frowning.” Ellie’s face flushed guiltily, gaze went to mine briefly, then he looked away as his cheeks went even pinker. Perhaps it was awkward keeping secrets from a ghost. “Wants to know what’s wrong and don’t even pretend it’s a social visit.”

  Here we go. “It’s about Nate.”

  “He sighed. He thought Nate was—”

  I shook my head. I didn’t know where Peter actually was in the room or if he was in the room. Ellie might’ve just been accessing our psychic from some other dimension, and Peter was oblivious to us here, so I focused on the psychic. “I turned him.”

  “Oh...that’s not a happy expression.”

  I tensed, heart kicking hard in response. “What is it?”

  “Um...shaking his head. Pacing. More shaking his head. Not happy, Zar.”

  Fuck. “What the hell is wrong?”

  “You...oh.” Ellie met my gaze and his flushed face suddenly paled, eyes—peeking out from under that shaggy hair—widening. “He says you don’t turn magic users.”

  I stopped, not realizing I’d still been pacing until my feet cemented in place and I came dangerously close to pitching forward on my nose. My gut twisted with dread. “What do you mean?”

  “Did you ask Nate?”

  Shit. “We...” Peter wasn’t around for that last bit—got impaled trying to save me. “We didn’t have time for that.”

  “Oh Zara, he says. Zara. And he’s repeating your name, back to pacing.”

  The world was spinning out from under my feet, twirling away as if about to dump me on my ass. I could all but see Peter, speaking in a calm voice, vaguely British, with dark eyes searing into me because he knew my history, knew all about me, and seemed to know what I was capable of in a way the others didn’t. Peter who had died to protect me. Peter who had thought, for all these years, that I accepted the life he gave me and then promptly killed his oldest friend.

  But I grabbed on with both hands, steadying myself, forcing the world to hold still again because I didn’t have the luxury of freaking out. “Okay, y’know what? We don’t have time for this. I changed him, he’s awake, and he’s batshit fucking crazy—tried to kill me. So. Spill it.”

  “He says,” a sigh, “you don’t change magic users. Magic is in their DNA. The vampire parasite changes their DNA. It...doesn’t go well.”

  Well, motherfucker, I could’ve told them that given what was in my bedroom.

  Ellie took another drink. “If he’s awake...and he looks normal?”

  “Yeah, except for when he’s painting with blood on the walls and trying to tear my throat out, he’s peachy.”

  “That’s something. Usually they never come out of stasis—just die. Decompose.”

  Fuck. Fuck shitFUCK. Some motherfucking classes on the subject might’ve been nice. So You Decided To Turn Your Warlock Into a Vampire 101. At least someone should’ve made a textbook. Or a video tutorial on YouTube. “How do we fix him?”

  “You...” Ellie winced, shoulders turning inward like I might hit him. “Don’t fix them.”

  “Um, I’m sorry—try again, remembering my threat about breaking legs.”

  Ellie’s hands flew up in defense, voice pitching higher. “He says you don’t fix them. They’re rare and any ones he’s encountered have been really, really crazy. Interviewed one for his thesis and the guy was incoherent.”

  They don’t survive the ensuing insanity. I interviewed one for my thesis. Either Peter was suddenly speaking through Nate, or... “Did he know?”

  “Yeah, Peter says. While they were looking for you, when you were...” A frown. “Imprisoned. Before they found you. Nate met one in Quebec...Peter thinks it was in Saint-Jérôme but they moved around a lot. She tried to turn him in, collect the bounty. And she was crazy.”

  Okay. That I could work with. “Vampires in Quebec...catch any names?”

  “Not hers, he says. But Nate went to meet with a vampire at the same time who was in on it. Um...name escapes him. Starts with an L. Laur...Laurent?”

  “Felix Laurent.”

  A shrug. “Could be.”

  Okay. I could work with that too. I’d heard about Felix—he worked for the Quebec branch of the VBA and I’d scuffed him up after I’d heard a rumour he tried to turn in my boyfriend. Felix was known and if he worked with this crazy vampire witch chick, I could find her well enough.

  I turned and gazed back at the stairs, at the thread of light under the bedroom door. He slept up there. Peaceful. Unable to remember my name. And I’d done it to him.

  Fuck this “no fixing” thing—I was bringing him back. “Any other resources, Pete?” I asked as I turned back to the group.

  “Not that he can think of but if you find out more, tell him and he’ll see what he can do.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Also, he’s seriously pissed.”

  I nodded again. “As he should be. He can bitch at me after we fix Nate.”

  “And he’s gone.”

  A collective breath expelled from the group and tension eased. Around them, at least; I was still coiled pretty tight, ready to snap, gears in my brain shifting.

  “So,” Nic broke the silence, “we find Felix, then?”

  Screw that—no one was going to Quebec. Yet. “No.” I met her gaze. “Yo
u go through our contacts. I want a list of every demonologist everyone we know has ever heard of. Most of them have nothing to do with vampires, but they have lots to do with witches. They need to give us info on every single turned witch or warlock any of them has ever heard of. I don’t care if it’s a second hand account or even a rumour. Split the list with Peri and,” I glanced at Peri next, “don’t act like a goddamn cunt with people. You don’t have to be nice but don’t be a Hell Bitch.”

  She said nothing, clearly pissed.

  I didn’t care and looked at Ryann next. “You two, take the spare room under the stairs and rest. You need food or liquor or something, tell me and I’ll get it, but I want you refreshed in case we need Peter again.”

  Ryann said nothing as well and walked to Ellie’s side as he stood on swaying legs, ice in his glass tinkling. “We’ll figure it out,” he said cheerily.

  I nodded. Good to have someone on board.

  Nic was walking Peri to the computer while the others disappeared into the spare room. “But what about Felix?”

  Felix. Backstabbing bastard—yeah, I’d have him dealt with. “I’ll outsource.” I slid the phone from my pocket and jogged up the stairs to my room. The house was restless, everyone moving about and doing their part, chattering. Nic could handle going through the files since she organized them and I figured Peri would end up just assisting so she didn’t have to actually talk to people. She wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Nic—had no love for me—and I didn’t damn well care. As long as she kept her mouth shut and stayed the hell away from Nate, I was fine with her presence.

  I shut the door softly behind me, back pressed against it. Nate still slumbered and I wished I could unbind him. Maybe after he’d fed a few more times, after the blood hunger quieted. Waking up from stasis, the body is starved, but after a few days most vampires start to come around. I didn’t really care if he was temporarily crazy, so long as he wasn’t violent crazy and cutting himself to paint on my walls.