“You should watch your tongue, boy. I’ve killed thousands and wouldn’t hesitate to add you to the pile,” he whispered, his voice lethal. “You keep going like this, and you’ll be dead before morning.”
“That wasn’t the deal,” Vivian said, a spark of her old dignity flaring in her voice. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him beyond what was necessary.”
Thomas groaned, turning his face enough to see Ernest round on Vivian. He looked surprised to see her.
“Why are you still—why is she still here? Someone, get rid of her.”
Identical evil smiles spread across the faces of Ernest’s vampires as they closed in around Vivian, who didn’t look the least bit daunted by their approach. She stepped into a crouch, stepping on Thomas’ phone. It cracked but didn’t stop beeping. Vivian kicked the phone away and glared at the vampires surrounding her. She wasn’t afraid of death.
Ernest ignored them, squatting next to Thomas.
“Do you know why she betrayed you?” Ernest asked, his voice heavy with unshed laughter. “We found her husband in one of our garages. He made the mistake of blowing it up. Obviously we couldn’t let that slide. I had to kill him. I drove my stake through his heart. She doesn’t know that, of course. I found her business card on his corpse and gave her a call, told her I was willing to make a trade. Her husband for you. Isn’t love adorable?”
Ernest turned Thomas over and doused his face with the rotten blood, gagging him. He choked and spat out what he could. The mix of iron and rot burned his face and throat as he was forced to swallow.
The regeneration was slow, but Thomas could feel it working, knitting his nose and bones back together and sealing his flesh. He couldn’t yet stand, but feeling had returned to his fingers and he clenched his hand into a fist.
“Anyway, it’s probably time to move you,” Ernest said, brushing some dust from Thomas’ shoulder and picking up Thomas’ phone, which had slid near his own feet. “It would be a terrible bother if one of your unfortunate friends showed up.”
Ernest pressed the mute button on the phone, and the beeping stopped. After tossing the phone aside, Ernest grabbed the collar of Thomas’ jacket, lifting him off of the ground. He kicked his feet futilely, trying to will his broken body into action. He couldn’t die yet; he only had a brief moment of strength from the blood before Ernest and his men would break him again.
Move, he thought fiercely. Move.
All the vampires stiffened; the blood junkies turning salivating mouths toward the corner of the street opposite them. Thomas smelled it too—a human. He knew who it was.
“No,” Thomas moaned.
This was worse than being captured by Ernest with no chance of escape. It was worse than watching Vivian battle for her life. Worse than the pain so thick in his system he couldn’t move.
Sean had finally come back, just in time to be caught by the most bloodthirsty vampires in the city.
Thomas inhaled deeply, fire burning his lungs, chest, and mouth, and shouted, “Turn around.”
“Thomas?” Sean’s scent came closer. He smelled of sweat, cologne, old books, and fresh blood.
A figure grew closer, and Thomas twisted to see better. Sean held his phone to his ear, his lips moving as he pulled the phone away and tucked it in his pocket.
“Thomas?” Sean picked up his pace.
Dammit. Sean needed to turn back, not get closer. Thomas shouted again, swearing and threatening Sean to turn back, but his best friend ignored him.
One of Ernest’s blood junkies stepped from the shadows and ripped Sean off his feet. He was carried and shoved onto his knees in front of Ernest. Instead of cowering in fear, Sean adopted a look of confidence.
“Don’t worry, Thomas. I’m here to rescue you.”
“Sean, be quiet,” Thomas groaned.
Ernest still held him above the ground by the front of his jacket. The vampires around them broke into laughter. Ernest laughed harder than the rest, dropping Thomas on the ground with a thud, Thomas’ legs crumpling beneath him as if Ernest had thrown him with full strength.
“Oh, Thomas. You shouldn’t have. I was feeling a little peckish,” Ernest said, wiping a tear from his eye.
“Run, Sean,” Thomas struggled to unpile himself, his broken body still mending. He was almost whole. A flashback of Gary flooded his mind—again, a friend needed his help and Thomas couldn’t do anything. Frustration and fear boiled in his blood like poison.
Ernest whistled, and one of the blood junkies broke away from fighting Vivian and barreled toward Sean. Reacting much quicker than Thomas might have expected, Sean ripped a small bottle from his pocket and pepper-sprayed the vampire straight in the face. The vampire howled, swiping blindly in Sean’s general direction. Sean leapt to the side and kicked the attacking vampire as she passed, sending her sprawling across the pavement.
He looked pleased with himself, and it was going to get him killed.
Thomas attempted to stand as his legs finished healing, but Ernest kicked him back down.
“Still have some fight in you?” Ernest chuckled. He reached down and closed his fist around Thomas’ throat, choking him. “I’m going to enjoy sucking the life out of that plucky little friend of yours.”
That did it.
Thomas lashed out with a newly mended foot and kicked Ernest square in the stomach with enough force to make the broad vampire release him.
Wasting no time, Thomas twisted away from Ernest’s reach and rushed toward Sean. His old chest injury burned from the remaining hawthorn slivers as he tapped into more of his supernatural strength, and he pushed through the pain. Sean’s life depended on it.
The blood junkie was on her feet again, getting ready for another round. Thomas didn’t slow down. He rammed right into the vampire, tackling her to the ground. She fought ferociously but could only thrash blindly, her eyes still healing from the spray. Seeing an opening, Thomas punched her with the full force of his rage. The blood junkie dropped, unable to move.
Breathing heavily, Thomas whipped around to look for Sean. Ernest was there first.
“Sean, look out,” Thomas cried, running back toward his friend.
Ernest turned and locked gazes with Thomas, his eyes malicious and taunting. In one excruciating moment, Thomas realized he wouldn’t get there in time. Ernest threw Sean with supernatural force against the brick wall behind him. Thomas heard Sean’s skull crack from fifteen feet away.
“Sean!”
“Oh dear,” Ernest said with a tone of mock concern.
Sean crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Thomas rushed past Ernest to reach his friend, but Ernest caught him roughly by the back of his neck. Sean’s pulse was faint and growing slower every second—Thomas had to help. He wrenched and pulled against Ernest’s grip, but his short burst of strength had faded, replaced by the overwhelming ache in his chest. He could only watch as the life faded out of his best friend’s body.
As if answering a silent plea for help, a brick sailed out of nowhere and smacked Ernest square in the forehead. He fell to the side, releasing Thomas.
Thomas didn’t wait to see who threw it. He leapt to Sean’s side and pulled his best friend into his arms. A white, clammy sheen coated Sean’s face. His curly hair was soaked in blood, which trickled onto the dirty street.
“No no no no,” Thomas choked out, pressing his ear against Sean’s chest as if it would change the sound of his failing heart. If Thomas was going to do anything, he had seconds.
“Ernest!”
Lawrence’s hateful scream thundered as if it was from far away. He didn’t look, unwilling to take his eyes off of Sean’s lifeless form.
Julia appeared by his side. “Thomas, are you okay?”
“He’s dying,” Thomas said, tears choking his words. “Something. We have to do something. Anything. He shouldn’t have been here in the first place.” Julia scrutinized Sean’s injuries, tilting her ear toward his chest. She couldn’t come to the same conclusion. She had t
o find something.
“Thomas, he’s too far gone. I’m sorry. He isn’t a vampire. There’s no way to bring him back now. I’m sorry.”
A vampire.
“No, we can still save him.” Thomas took a deep breath, steeling himself. He had one option. A something—and it was the only way.
Thomas bit Sean’s neck.
The first thin trickle of blood spilled across his tongue. His self-loathing and desperation at what he was doing was overcome by a sense of pure exhilaration. Hunger as intense as the pain he’d felt while Ernest broke his body exploded within him. It howled in satisfaction as more of Sean’s thick, warm blood filled Thomas’ mouth and slipped down his throat.
It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. The blood he took straight from Sean’s neck was deeper, richer, fuller. The beast inside of him urged him to keep going, to drink every last drop.
But he couldn’t.
Thomas growled and yanked himself free, his fangs and gums sore. Finding another spot on Sean’s shoulder, he bit again. Thomas had been bitten three times, so to be sure, he bit down a third time, this time on Sean’s chest between his ribs over his heart.
Each time Thomas bit down, the urge to bleed Sean dry grew stronger. He struggled with his resolve as the slow heartbeat quivered near his fangs. The thrill overwhelmed him, and he fought the urge to bite deeper, to suck stronger.
“Tom.”
Artemis’ nickname for him echoed in his ears. Artemis. Sean. He couldn’t let Sean die.
His gums ached as he released Sean a third time.
“Shit,” Julia muttered under her breath. “Ernest’s coming back.”
Julia. It was Julia who’d used his nickname, not Artemis.
“I need more time.”
“I’ll get it for you,” Julia said and kissed Thomas’ forehead. “Keep going.”
Behind him all hell was breaking loose. Vampires shouted at each other, swapping threats and curses as they smashed into each other, small thunderstorms shaking the ground and rumbling from collisions. But Thomas didn’t have time to look, not when his best friend’s life was on the line.
He had to focus.
Thomas bit his own wrist, tearing through muscle and veins so his blood flowed freely. He shoved the stream into Sean’s mouth. Sean’s pulse was a mere shadow, weakened more than ever by the loss of blood from injury and Thomas’ greed. Thomas squeezed his bleeding wrist, forcing as much blood down Sean’s throat as he could. He waited.
For a long, horrible moment, Thomas thought it hadn’t worked.
Sean’s body spasmed, choking on the blood in his throat and mouth. Thomas nearly dropped him in his shock. Had it worked? He pressed his ear against Sean’s chest again. There was a heartbeat. It was slow and frighteningly weak, but it was there.
Thomas’ tired cheer broke into a sigh. He’d done it. Sean would live.
“That is enough,” Ernest shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.
The street was splattered with blood and bodies. Vivian was collapsed on the ground where the junkies had left her, too injured to move. Thomas ignored her, searching for the Foxes as his eyes came across Ernest crouched in the middle of it all. His suit was torn in three places, his hair was disheveled, and he held his cane in his right hand.
Ernest’s left hand gripped Julia’s neck, pinning her beneath him and choking her. A chill of horror ran down Thomas’ spine as he watched Julia claw at the man’s iron grip, gasping for breath. Her legs strained, but she couldn’t kick free—Ernest had pinned them down with his own legs and knees. He flashed a wicked grin between panting.
“No,” Sara cried as she unearthed herself from beneath a dead blood junkie three times her size.
Ernest sneered, glaring at Lawrence and gesturing with his cane.
Lawrence tossed his shotgun to the side, raising trembling hands as he watched his struggling daughter.
“Why I’ve put up with you lot for so long, I’ll never know,” Ernest said, hatred reddening his face.
“Please, Ernest, for the love of God, don’t hurt her. I’ll surrender, leave the city, burn the bar to the ground if you want. I’ll go quietly. You can stake me for a sunrise for all I care,” Lawrence pleaded, his voice a near sob as he took a small step toward the man he’d once called his friend and partner. “Please, let her go. You win, Ernest. You win. . . .”
The two men locked eyes, one pleading, the other triumphant. Neither breathed.
“Yes, Lawrence. I win,” Ernest said, his voice deadly calm, and he drove his cane straight through Julia’s heart.
◆◆◆
A raw, broken scream tore from Thomas’ blood-soaked lips.
Julia couldn’t die. She was too strong, too full of fierceness and life. He’d never worried she might die. Why was she defeated beneath another man, a stake through her heart, right before his eyes?
She wasn’t really dead. She couldn’t be. If he could just get over there . . .
A shriek of hellish rage rattled Thomas’ very soul. Sara hurtled herself at the enemy vampires, the surprised blood junkies unable to respond quick enough. Driven by grief and rage over the death of her daughter, Sara appeared more monster than human. Her eyes were merciless pools of fury as her fangs extended to their full length.
Sara backhanded the first junkie with a closed fist, snapping the enemy vampire’s head 180 degrees, then lunged at a second. She cut him off mid-shout as she ripped her fangs through his throat. Without pause, she attacked the next junkie.
Unlike his wife, Lawrence had managed to hone his murderous fury down to a single target: Ernest. The man who had murdered his daughter.
Julia.
Her beautiful eyes were an empty stare. Memories of her laughing flashed through Thomas’ mind, memories of her singing, her teasing. She would never do any of that again. A monstrous rage billowed from the depths of Thomas’ soul, and the beast inside him gained strength in his emotional misery.
Thomas sprinted toward Ernest, approaching him on the opposite side of Lawrence. He felt more powerful than he’d ever felt before, his raw agony mixing with Sean’s fresh blood swirling in his system.
As he and Lawrence crashed into Ernest, the world disappeared from beneath Thomas’ feet and he sailed backward, thrown out of the melee by a single blow from Ernest’s cane. His head smacked the ground and colors flashed through his vision. He struggled to rise and dropped again. Despite feeding on fresh blood, Thomas couldn’t tangle with Ernest and have a chance.
Lawrence was nearly a blur. One hand caught the cane and the other curled into a fist that slammed into Ernest’s jaw. The crack sounded like stone breaking. Lawrence pulled back his fist and struck Ernest again.
Before Lawrence could strike a third time, Ernest retaliated. He kneed Lawrence in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. As he doubled over, Ernest drove an elbow between his shoulder blades and knocked him to the ground. Blood dripped from Ernest’s deep split lip, and he spat it out on Lawrence before raising a foot to crush the downed vampire’s spine. Lawrence rolled to the side, and the cement cracked where Ernest’s foot struck the ground.
Lawrence scrambled to his feet and charged.
Ernest sidestepped the attempted tackle and slashed his cane across Lawrence’s face, leaving a wicked gash on his forehead. Blood seeped from the opening, but Lawrence fought as if it wasn’t there.
As Thomas’ body finished healing, he lurched to his feet. His chest ached and blood dripped from his arm, but he couldn’t let Ernest win. Running full tilt, he tackled Ernest with enough force to break bones. They struggled, locked together before Ernest ripped Thomas away and tossed him on the ground.
Eyes flashing with rage, Ernest drove his cane downward to pierce Thomas’ heart, but Lawrence materialized out of nowhere and knocked it aside. The point grazed Thomas’ shoulder and cracked the cement to his right. The immediate pain distracted him, but when he saw Julia’s dead body in the corner of his eye he regained his foc
us. He jumped to his feet, inhuman snarling and spitting ripping from deep within.
“Thomas, be a pal and go help my wife,” Lawrence spat, undoing the cuffs on his shirt and rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll be the one to send my old partner here straight to the gates of hell.”
Thomas paused, panting hard. He couldn’t leave Ernest. This was the man who had murdered Julia. Staked her. Started the god-forsaken war.
Ernest had taken everything from him.
He was going to take everything from the Red Lightning Pub vampires and the citizens of Colesbrooke next.
Ernest was unlike any vampire Thomas had ever encountered. He was as physically imposing as Jericho, faster than Lawrence, and had an affinity for murderous violence that could make the Boston Boys collectively shudder.
He was an exemplar of the worst traits of vampirism.
“Go,” Lawrence raged, and Thomas stumbled toward Sara, half surprised and half unable to disobey his murderous boss.
“You’ve gone soft, old man,” Ernest chuckled, breathing heavily.
“At least I haven’t become a monster. You murdered my girl, Ernest. I’d given up, and you murdered my girl!” Lawrence was screaming by the end of his sentence, and he launched himself toward Ernest.
Sara’s movements were almost as imperceptible as her husband’s. She twisted, ducked, dodged, and weaved through the small remaining group of blood junkies who uncoordinatedly attacked her. Three junkies rushed her, forcing her to the ground as Thomas approached. She flipped her head back and forth, something that had never occurred to Thomas as a way to protect his neck, as one large vampire yanked on her hair to pin her movements. She shouted curses and struggled as another junkie helped the others.
“Get off of her,” Thomas yelled as he pummeled into the group. Two blood junkies fell away. One tripped over himself and dropped a small hawthorn stake. Thomas groaned, spinning around and racing the blood junkie for the stake. The junkie beat him and palmed the stake, twisting into an offensive stance.
Shadows of Colesbrooke Page 26