Vermilion Lies

by L. D. Rose

  Yes. He’d made it.

  Briefly catching his breath, a sense of tranquility settled over him. His gums tightened, his incisors extracting with anticipation, power and adrenaline chorusing in his veins. His vision changed as the world sharpened into focus, his pupils consuming his irises, his purpose never more clear.

  Time to crash this party.

  Drawing a blade from his arm sheath, he headed for the stern first, since it was the easiest access point inside. The two guards at the back puffed on cigarettes, sporting loose suits and a couple of pistols, murmuring to one another. Remarkably, they didn’t notice him rising like a phantom over the deck above.

  Bunch of dumbass mafiosos.

  The closest leech stood with his back toward him, gesticulating dramatically at his partner. The other guy smiled and nodded, flashing fang as he sipped on blood from a rocks glass. Gripping the varnished rail, Dax quietly leapt over it, landing behind Thing #1 and promptly slitting his throat.

  Blood spurted on his partner as the glass shattered on the deck, painting the wood red. Barely giving Thing #2 time to react, Dax snatched his collar and buried the blade in his chest, stabbing him five times in a vicious arc across his torso and once in the gut for good measure. The guy gurgled like a coffee pot, black eyes wide with horror and blood spewing from his mouth.

  Dax grinned at him. “Ciao.”

  The leech crumpled to the floor in a bloodied heap. Dax relieved him of his holstered Glock 18, examining the fully automatic mode on the selector switch as he raised his brow in surprise. Very nice. After clicking the switch into position, he discreetly pushed the body off the stern, maneuvering it beneath the nearby dock.

  Turning his attention to Thing #1, Dax stared down at his red smile while the leech clawed at the wound in a futile attempt to stop exsanguinating. The vampire barely fought back as Dax disarmed him and brutally knifed him twice in the heart. Finally, Thing #1 ceased struggling altogether before Dax shoved him off the boat with his partner, watching their bodies float under the pier.

  Snack on that, Poseidon.

  Dax pivoted toward the entrance into the main saloon, bloody knife sheathed with a Glock in each hand, his mind fully entrenched in the numbing white static of murder. His lips curved darkly as he strode across the bloodstained deck toward the back door and calmly opened it. Opera music poured into his ears as he stepped into the dimly lit gala, vampires dressed to the nines and scattered throughout the expansive room. Some were seated at the wet bar on the far side of the ship, males schmoozing with expensive cigars in hand, while females hung all over them, holding fancy cocktails.

  Absorbing every detail in the few moments he had, Dax tasted the tobacco, wealth, and bloodlust on the back of his salty tongue, and the beast inside him roused at the impending violence.

  No one noticed him, not at first, not until he raised a gun and fired a headshot at the biggest male nearby.

  Then chaos snapped its chain.

  Dax used the guy’s bulk as a shield while every male in the room spun on him, drawing their weapons. But he sprayed down half of them with the Glock 18 before they could even pull the trigger, screams piercing the air as the females fled. Driving farther into the room, Dax waited for magazines to empty, bullets riddling the carcass he held up in front of him. He shot back as they reloaded, shelling out nothing but near-perfect head and chest shots.

  Once the body became too unwieldy, Dax dropped the weight and fired with both guns, wiping out everything in his path. Male, female, it didn’t matter, it was all noise to him, the bar exploding in showers of booze and glass, bodies bursting with blood, shrieks ripping through eardrums. A port side door opened and more leeches filed in from outside, but he met them head on, dodging their slugs and almost laughing out loud at how sloppy they were. Amateurs, all of them, and he loved every second of it.

  Plowing into the side door, he darted outside again, the opera singer’s coloratura seeming to amplify at his success. More shouts rent the air as vampires dashed in every direction, and Dax confiscated weapons along the way, using their own firearms against them. Muzzle flashes lit up the night like bullseyes, bullets whirring past him to strike unintended targets.

  Running full speed at a thug who clumsily tried to reload his forty-five, Dax dove onto the deck and slid right between the leech’s legs. He grabbed the vampire’s ankles on the way through, and the leech face-planted while Dax levered to his feet and kept moving. Everyone seemed to be on deck now, but Dax suspected plenty more of these morons scampered around here somewhere, including the infamous Imbruglia.

  He vaulted the stairs to the second deck, catching another clown in the distance, and Dax swiftly threw one of his knives. The silver winked like a flashlight as it flipped handle over blade, landing squarely in the vampire’s heart before the leech could get a shot off. The vampire collapsed, only to reveal another furious bloodsucker.

  Dax didn’t miss a beat as he jumped up and gripped the arch over the gangway, lifting his dive boots and kicking the second leech in the face. The vampire went flying overboard while Dax hit the floor and neutralized a third leech. He tossed number three on his back and snapped his neck quickly and cleanly. Exhilaration flooded him as vampire blood steamed the air, the singer hollering while he terminated them one by one.

  He managed to clear three decks, leaving trails of bodies in his wake as the opera urged him on, crescendoing into an all-out roar. He suppressed the ridiculous impulse to wave his bloody hands in the air, as if to conduct the orchestra behind the sound. Imbruglia had yet to show his cowardly mug, so Dax would have to save the celebration until the boss was dead.

  Ascending to the topmost flybridge, Dax faced a room surrounded in clear, broad-paneled glass. And—what do you know—bossman hid inside exactly as Dax expected him to. The sire was half-dressed, his white button-down open and tugged out of his gray slacks, black tie at half-mast. He looked exactly like the images Kayne had sent him, like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction, like an angry, trigger-happy motherfucker. Dax smirked as the don raised a forty-five, baring his long white fangs.

  The glass enclosing the luxurious bridge was bulletproof, or else Imbruglia would’ve already fired. A female cowered on a plush white sofa in the corner, still wearing her red cocktail dress. Their tryst was about to begin.

  Sorry to interrupt, stronzo.

  Dax rounded the deck like a shark circling its prey, a fresh set of nines held loosely in his hands. He’d lost count of how many bullets he had left, but he wouldn’t need them.

  Enzo started yakking, but Dax ignored him. He hated when bosses flapped their mouths, insulting him like he was supposed to be offended or some shit. Keeping his ears tuned to the opera instead, he freed a hand and lifted it to one of the glass panels, flattening his palm and channeling his chi.

  The energy bloomed inside him, warm at his core but cooling as it raced toward the periphery. It charged through his nervous system and pulled at the cold air around him, using the ozone as fuel. The air’s moisture coalesced around his fingers as bright blue light spilled from his skin, rapidly chilling the precipitation. His breath misted and his body numbed from the energy he’d summoned—the element of water and the power of ice.

  Within seconds, the entire panel had frozen, cracking and shuddering beneath its own weight, obscuring the scene with a frosty blur. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, Dax spun and roundhouse-kicked the glass, the pane shattering in an ear-piercing cacophony of destruction.

  Enzo immediately unloaded and a bullet struck Dax somewhere in the shoulder, but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything. Without slowing down, he was on Enzo in no time, disarming the sire as the gun skittered toward the female. Unlike his subordinates, Enzo was no amateur, and he gave Dax a run for his money. They fought fast and hard, unleashing an array of punches and kicks at one another, snarling and
growling like a pair of rabid dogs.

  Dax lost his weapons in the melee, but he was acutely aware of the female nearby. She could easily get up, grab the forty-five, and pull the trigger, but she didn’t move an inch. She just sat there, hands clamped over her ears, watching them with terror in her inky eyes.

  Blood splattered the remaining glass panels and soaked the plush white sofas. Glass cracked and spidered under the weight of muscled bodies as they violently slammed each other into the walls. Dax needed time to recover his chi, but Enzo never gave it to him, his attacks lightning-fast. They broke each other’s bones, wrenched painful roars from each other’s throats, but neither let up, using anything and everything in the vicinity to strike.

  Finally, Dax managed to draw his last dagger from his arm sheath, but Enzo somehow got his claws on another, and the brawl transformed into a full-blown knife fight.

  The blood flowed faster now, spilling everywhere as they brutally slashed into one another. It wasn’t until Dax lay flat on his back, the tip of a blade splitting his eyelashes, when the female stood at last. Dread gripped Dax’s heart and dragged it kicking and screaming into his stomach as she picked up the gun.

  “Shoot him!” Enzo bellowed, blood spewing from his mouth while he strained to sink the knife into Dax’s eye socket. Enzo had Dax’s dominant hand pinned by a knee, removing his dagger from the game. Dax had cuffed Enzo’s wrist to prevent the blade from plunging into his brain, but he was tiring. The female fumbled with the gun, and it became obvious she’d never used one before.

  Enzo roared his frustrations. She dropped the magazine and he turned his head to see what was happening, giving Dax the distraction he so desperately needed.

  You fucking idiot. Never turn your back on the enemy.

  Enzo’s wrist went lax and Dax snapped it back, hearing the sweet sound of vampire bones breaking. Enzo howled and Dax freed his right arm from beneath the sire’s knee. Without wasting another precious second, Dax flipped his dagger and rammed it under the vampire’s chin with all his might. Flesh and bone resisted as he buried the blade to the hilt inside the sire’s skull.

  The howling abruptly stopped, throttled into sick gurgles as Enzo’s bulging demonic eyes rolled into the back of his head. The leech collapsed on top of him, the tremendous dead weight driving Dax’s breath out of his lungs. He shoved the body off, drenched in strigoi blood, gasping for air.

  Closing his eyes with respite, Dax swallowed hard, tasting iron and unable to rid himself of the sensation of metal against his lashes. The adrenaline quickly vanished without a trace, leaving him raw and shivering. Exhaustion plowed over him, weighing him down and making him slow. He couldn’t feel his right leg and the left side of his face was swollen enough to develop its own pulse, obliterating half his vision. His teeth chattered and his muscles shrieked, an ominous sign that he’d lost way too much blood.

  But the female was still here. And she had a gun.

  Dax forced himself to sit up, pain electrifying his every nerve as more blood splashed on the already crimson floor. He scanned the room with his good eye—the eye that had nearly been gouged out of his head—and spotted her standing there, forty-five held in a two-handed grip and pointed straight at him.

  She stared at him with wide, makeup-smeared eyes set in a pale, fragile face. Rogue strands of her raven hair fell from her up-do, her throat working as if she were scared to death, even though she held the weapon. Her obsidian gaze and full mouth clearly broadcasted vampire, but he’d never witnessed so much emotion on a leech’s face.

  It made her look almost human . . . almost.

  And for some unfathomable reason, she was in no rush to kill him, handing him the opportunity to take her out first.

  “You’re a hybrid,” she murmured, her smooth mezzo-soprano subdued past his ringing ears.

  Watching her carefully, Dax wished he’d retrieved his dagger from the dead leech on the deck below. He jutted his chin at her and instantly regretted it, the motion making his head spin. “Are you going to shoot me or what?” he croaked, sounding like he had a mouthful of gravel.

  The strap of her red cocktail dress slipped off her creamy white shoulder. The garment was far too big for her, hanging loosely off her thin frame. She looked unsteady in her four-inch heels, her legs braced shoulder-width apart.

  Deer in the headlights didn’t even cover it.

  Unless the deer had a pair of fucking fangs.

  “How do you plan on getting out of here?”

  He narrowed his good eye at her. Fear pumped off her in pungent waves, thick with the scent of incense and an underlying hint of ripe cherries. He’d never smelled anything like it, and it tugged at something deep inside him, something he didn’t know he contained. He couldn’t describe it for the life of him, but he sure as hell didn’t like it.

  “I don’t know.” Why did he answer her? He should’ve killed her by now. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “You have fangs too. And your eyes—”

  “I’m not like you,” he barked, a lash of anger flaying the air between them. He spat blood on the very dead Enzo. “Or him.”

  “But you look like me.” A fine tremble shook her voice and spread into her hands. She wasn’t going to shoot him. God knew why the fuck not.

  Latching onto the arm of a nearby recliner, Dax tried to stand. The pain was terrific as he attempted to carry his own weight, things cracking and breaking inside him. His leg was still an anesthetized block of concrete, but he managed to climb to his feet, hunched over the chair with his chest hitching and his breath shallow.

  God, it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

  It hurt to move, to speak, to breathe. Agony made him so lightheaded it almost felt good—another bad sign. Shit was serious when he actually enjoyed the torment. He’d been in worse shape before, but this was a beaut.

  Daring a step toward her, he almost fell over. She inhaled sharply, reaching out for him, the gesture nearly shocking him into immobilization, but a primal part of him reacted. Grabbing her helping hand, he whirled her around, pinning her back to him. She yelped as he snatched the forty-five and pushed the barrel into her temple, unsure of whether a bullet had been chambered, but willing to take the risk.

  “Why do you want to help me, leech?” he growled raggedly in her ear while she squirmed against him, sending fresh pain bursting through his every cell. It didn’t take long for her body to still, however, sagging with surrender.

  Well, shit. She didn’t put much effort into that.

  Her scent intensified and his gut clenched in response. It was on her dress, in her hair, emitting from her pores. He gritted his teeth, heart going off like a jackhammer in his chest, fangs throbbing savagely.

  You’re hungry. Everything smells fucking delightful right now.

  It had to be the lack of blood, not her aroma, not her nearness, not the goddamn vampire molded to his ruined body. They both quivered, her in fear, him in pain and whatever the hell this was. His finger hovered over the trigger, but he didn’t pull it. Couldn’t pull it.

  Finally, she whispered in a soft, shaky voice, “Take me with you. Please.”

  Dax stood there for a moment, his brain aching as badly as the rest of him. He stared at their reflection in the intact glass panels, the gray-blue image conjured from the deck lights. He looked like absolute shit, like he’d been run over by a Mack truck a few times and sent through a meat grinder. His wetsuit was torn to shreds, exposing bloodied wounds and raw skin. His eyes were as black as hers, his mouth just as full, his skin colored corpse white.

  She was right. He did look like her, didn’t he?

  Bullshit.

  The crown of her head reached his smashed nose, her chest heaving against his arm as she regarded him in the glass, waiting for him to blow her away.

&
nbsp; The calm voice of logic resonated in the back of his skull. You won’t make it off this boat without her.

  He could hardly walk, never mind swim. He’d either have to take the yacht or get back on the RIB. Navigating a Feadship was out of the question; he’d have a welcome party once he arrived on shore with this monster. And in his condition, he doubted he could launch the RIB alone, not without wrecking it or himself. She may not look strong, but she had to be. All goddamn vampires were strong.

  Take her with you now then ditch her when you’re in the clear. Once they made it back to Jamestown, he’d get rid of her.

  Then realization hit him with the force of a freight train.

  She has a reflection.

  He gawked at it, at her, blinking his single eye a few times to ensure he wasn’t hallucinating. Vampires didn’t have reflections. It was some kind of evolutionary camouflage they’d acquired over time, some Darwinian survival of the fittest garbage. The religious believed it was due to their absence of souls—sure, okay, either way it didn’t matter—they just didn’t have them. The only leech Dax knew with a reflection was Federal Agent-turned-vampire Jonathan Kerr, and he’d converted to the dark side in a very non-traditional way.

  What the fuck is going on?

  “All right, leech,” he said, forcing the words out through gnashed teeth. “I’ll take you with me.”

  Relief flitted across her pretty face and her heartbeat slowed under his arm. He pretended not to notice either response, especially her fucking pulse. “But you need to do exactly as I say or I’ll blow your brains out.”

  “Okay.” She nodded against the muzzle. “I will. I promise.”

  FOUR

  The inflatable boat slammed into shore, sand crunching beneath its bow. The motor sputtered and the hybrid revved it hard, driving them farther over shell and rock. He never took the gun off her for the entire trip, not even for a second. He barely looked away from her either, only to steal occasional glances at the beach. Obviously, he didn’t trust her, not that she’d expected him to, but the idea he found her dangerous was ludicrous. No one had ever treated her like she was lethal.