All at once, the last tree falls. The mist hovers and swirls over the downed forest, obscuring the browns and greens with a white blanket. In the next second, it begins to recede, and in its wake, darkness. It’s almost as if my vision is blurred, and I can’t make out figures, forms, or shapes. I even scrub my eyes with my free fist.
Then I blink, and my vision sharpens. I’m standing at the end of a street. Dark, shadowy, desolate. No cars. No trash cans. No storefronts. Just a street. At the far end, a derelict church. Ruined stone buildings flank me, along with cracked and torn-up sidewalks. Windows are glassless, and rotted two-by-fours crisscross the gaps. The air around me is dead still, yet some of the windows have tattered drapes that flap in a breeze that doesn’t exist. My eyes search every angle, every sharp edge, every shadow. I glance down, and at my feet, see a dead raven. Half of it’s smashed into the broken pavement, its wings unnaturally bent backward. The eyes have been burned out. Nothing but a singed hole looks up at me.
I step over the dead raven, and it begins to flap its broken wings. Billy Squier’s “The Stroke” starts booming from one of the broken windows above me. My eyes scan the gaping holes, and I see nothing. I take a long breath and move forward. I can’t let this world get to me. Besides, I love Billy Squier. What the hell?
No sooner do I move five feet than my heart seizes. I feel it thump, heavy, like a chunk of lead, and my first and immediate thought is Eli. My eyes latch onto the church at the end of the street. He’s in there. I know it. I feel it.
My legs react before my brain does, and I start to run. Only then do the cracks in the sidewalk break wider, and distorted, shadowy shrouds writhe out of them and move toward me. Their screams pierce my ears, and I feel like my eardrums will explode. The figures emerge from the cracks and take new forms and charge me. One has a shrunken cat’s head on a long, willowy body and long, jagged fangs. It hurls itself at me, and I point my scatha directly at its head and fire off one cartridge. The body drops in midair. The head is obliterated. Another one from the left lunges, and I fire. It drops, too. I’m closer to the church. Closer to Eli. I feel him there. Waiting for me.
I’m hit from behind and taken to the ground. Something sharp, cold, jabs into my back and straight through to the pavement beneath me. The pain is white-hot, almost blinding me. I gather all of my strength and explode upward, the thing still attached to my back. I flip, my back facing the ground, and we crash down. Quickly I roll, jump, and fire the scatha. Obliterated. I don’t bother looking around me. I take off. The church is ahead, maybe fifty feet. One of the double doors is caved in. The stone is charred, as though it’s been burned. The screams of the shadow creatures surround me, calling my name in such deafening tones I think I’ll lose my fucking mind. I push it all aside and speed up. With the dark shrouds all around me, with their little shrunken cat heads and distorted bodies grabbing for me, I leap the last fifteen feet in midair and crash through the double doors. One roll and I land in a crouch. The cat heads stop screaming my name. Even Billy Squier quiets. All is silent for a few seconds, and I search the inside of the decaying remains of the kirk. It smells like rotting flesh, death, and moldy wood. A creaking sound above me makes me look up. My heart crams into my throat. My body is paralyzed. My mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Eli! Vic! I say in my mind. No answer.
My vampire fiancé, Eligius Dupré, and vampire friend and WUP team member Victorian Arcos are hanging from the rotted rafters above. Tied at the wrists, they’re both completely naked. Their pale bodies are so covered by scorched whip marks that the stark slashes make it nearly impossible to tell their limbs apart. Some of the slashes are gaping. Made by blades. Holy hell . . .
The moment I decide to move, the sound of beating wings makes me pause. From a rafter close to Eli, a giant black gargoyle sweeps toward me. Its screaming talons and fangs are aimed for my head. I drop to my knee and fire the scatha, and the moment the cartridge hits, its body flies backward and crashes against the derelict stone wall. Black ashes fall to the floor.
Another one comes at me, from Victorian’s side, and it’s close, moving fast, and I have to free-run over broken pews and crumbling stone to get a good shot at it. I leap, half twist, and aim the scatha at the screaming thing. The cartridge knocks it back, too, and turns the creature to ashes. I’ve got eight cartridges left, and I’ll need every one of them to get us all out of here. I waste no time free-running, leaping off whatever solid thing my feet can find hold of, to reach the rafters above. I reach Eli first.
Hanging by one hand, I have no choice but to holster my scatha. I do so quickly, and gently grasp Eli’s jaw with my now-free hand. “Eli?” I say, and my vision is blurred by the tears that are filling my eyes. I can’t believe I’m looking at his face. His live face. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. “Eli! Can you hear me?”
A low groan emits from his throat, and that’s all I need. All in one motion, I wrap my legs around his waist, grab a blade from the back of my jeans, and cut the rope binding his wrists to the rafter. We start to fall, and I notice his body is colder than usual. We drop twenty feet to the floor, and I swing under him just before we hit, landing on my feet. He’s heavy as hell, but I’ve got him. I crouch with him and lay his head gently down, his dark hair falling over his still-closed eyes. But he’s alive. My love is alive!
“I’ll be right back and we’ll get the hell out of here,” I whisper to him, and graze his lips with a kiss. They’re cold, too, and I shake the chill off and gather my strength. Finding a foothold on an overturned pew, I free-run up the wall and leap over to Victorian. Mimicking my movements from before, I wrap my legs around Vic’s naked body.
“Arcos? Can you hear me?” I say close to his ear.
A faint grunt comes from deep within him. Again, that’s all I need for now.
Letting go of the rafter with one hand, I hold Vic tightly, and with one swipe, I cut through his binds with my blade. We fall, and I land, laying him beside Eli. God Almighty, they’re both covered in cuts and slashes. No blood, just dark, sooty marks on every limb, their faces, their chests, almost as if burned with some fiery weapon. Although their flesh is bloodless, it’s filleted open in places. What the hell happened to them?
The sound of beating wings begins, inaudible whispers colliding, but I know what they’re saying. Riley . . .
Time to get out. Now.
I’ve got no alternative but to drag Eli and Vic out by their bound wrists.
A loud beating of wings erupts from outside, and I know when I, dragging two six-foot-plus, hundred-and-eighty-pound naked vampires, explode through what once was the doorway of the church, I will have to have one free hand to fire the scatha. Quickly, I check the bindings on Eli’s and Vic’s wrists, and I cringe at what the paved cracked street will do to their flesh. But I can’t help it. I have to have a free firing arm.
With the screams filling the church, I load the scatha’s ammo chamber with four more cartridges, making it completely full. I then take the long piece of rope hanging from Eli’s bound wrists, and the one from Vic’s, and grasp them in my left hand, then wrap it around several times until they’re snug together. With the scatha gripped in my palm, forefinger on the trigger, I take a deep breath and, using all of my strength, run full force at the doorway. The guys are heavy as mother hell, but we’re moving fast. The moment we clear the kirk, there are tiny-headed, fanged cat creatures all over the street. They’re still as death, just staring at me with vertical pupils, and three lunge at once. I rapid-fire three rounds off, and three headless creatures fall to the ground. I take off, ignoring the groans I hear coming from both Eli and Vic. I have no idea what kind of condition they’re in. I don’t care. They’re alive and that’s all the info I need for now. I just need to get us the fuck out of here.
The street seems to have grown longer, and I don’t know what to do except keep running toward the end of it, away from the kirk. There are more shrouded creatures writhing up from the sidewalk cracks—too
many for the number of cartridges I have left. I keep running, only firing at the ones who get too close. My arm feels like it’s being torn off, and I glance back to make sure both Eli and Vic are still there. A cat creature has landed on Eli’s back and is gnawing on his ribs. I stop, drop to one knee, and fire the scatha, blowing it off Eli. Quickly, I load the remaining cartridges. I have three more left.
Shit.
Frustration clouds my judgment. What the hell do I do? I run toward the end of the street, but it stretches out long before me, like it’s never going to end, and distorted shadows grab at me, folding the darkness in on me. It’s now pitch-black, and I can only see the glowing eyes of the creatures hiding, preying, stalking us. I keep running, Eli’s and Vic’s bodies bounding limply behind me. They are heavy as shit, too. Like a ton of bricks. I fire another shot at something that flies at me from the shadows. Sparks flutter. I haul ass. One more cartridge left.
Then darkness settles at the end of the street. A pitch cloud, clustering together. First one pine tree, then another emerges. The woods! The goddamn woods! I draw every ounce of speed and strength I have and make my way there. One more creature leaps out at me, and I fire just before it knocks into me. I’m out of ammo. Almost there . . .
The moment my feet hit the spongy forest floor, that sonic boom wave flashes through the pines and knocks me backward. The rope entwining my wrist to Eli’s and Vic’s breaks, we all separate, and I fly hard through the air until a tree trunk stops my body. My shoulder pops, and I fall to the ground. Shaking my head, I try to stand, fall back down, stand again. Everything looks blurry, and my knees feel like rubber, and the pain in my shoulder screams as I lift my free hand to my eyes and scrub them. My other hand still grips tightly the scatha. I shake my head again.
Something’s wrong.
My frantic eyes search the forest floor.
Eli and Vic are gone.
A cold, sick wave of nausea sweeps over me, and I run, fall, get up, and run some more. I search everywhere, and I’m going in a big circle. Finally, I’m at the opening to St. Bueno’s.
Eli and Vic are nowhere in sight. I know they came with me through the boom. Where the hell did they go?
I sink to the ground. I can’t catch my breath, almost like I’m hyperventilating. I try to inhale deeply, and I can’t. After several tries, I realize it’s because I’m sobbing hysterically.
Finally, I lean back on my heels, draw a long, deep breath, and my lungs allow it.
“Eli!” I call out.
The sound resonates off the trees. Bounces off St. Bueno’s caved walls. Smacks right back into me.
It doesn’t even sound like my voice.
All is quiet. Not even a single rustling leaf cracks the silence.
When no answer follows, I slump against the tree trunk, drop the scatha, and close my eyes.
Part Two
PLAGUED OBSESSION
You don’t die from a broken heart. You only wish you did.
—Unknown
I miss my sister. I know we aren’t twins or anything, but I guess I still feel some sort of weird connection to her. And I can feel it—something ain’t right. It’s a sense that makes my stomach hurt. Like something’s coming and this time, she won’t be able to stop it. That’s the thing about Riley. She always thinks she’s got everything under control, no matter what it is. Drugs. Bully cops. Gangs. Vampires. Well, I’m not a kid anymore. And I won’t let her fall alone.
—Seth Poe
My body jerks. My eyes fly open. Everything’s dark. The air is sickening, still.
Eli. Vic. With a burst of energy I leap to my feet. Instinct makes me grab my left arm. Pain singes the shoulder joint. Where the hell is my scatha? I scan the ground. It’s nowhere.
Doesn’t matter. I have to go back in. . . .
My feet move first, and after two steps I’m snatched to a halt. Pain shoots from my shoulder and I hiss.
“No, you don’t,” a raspy voice says to me. A vise squeezes my good arm.
Dazed, I turn to my captor. Dreads. Crooked smile.
My partner. “Let me go, Noah,” I say evenly. My eyes are locked with his.
“Don’t do it, girl,” he says, and pulls me close. “This time, that mind shit won’t work.” From his fingers dangles the leather cord he wears around his neck, with a sachet of herbs concocted by my surrogate root doctor grandfather. It keeps his intoxicating sensual vampire scent, irrefutable by any and all species, at bay. He throws it over his head, away from the both of us. It lands at least twenty feet away. My eyes widen.
I feel my pupils dilate, and my body relaxes. I fixate on Noah’s lips. Full. Curved at the corners. Sexy as hell. Inviting. I gotta taste them. . . .
My body’s hot now, flashes of sensory fire scattering all over my flesh in patches. Stomach. Neck. Thighs. Crotch. Nothing makes sense to me except getting as physically close to Noah Miles as possible. I have to have him. Both of my hands reach for Noah’s head, he dips back, and all I touch are a few dreads. That’ll do. Wrapping my fingers tightly around them, I yank his head toward my mouth. At the same time, I leap onto him, curling my legs around his waist. One of his large hands separates us, and it’s pressing against my chest, pushing me away. My eyes dilate wider. I lean toward him, mouth open, the pain in my left shoulder forgotten. . . .
“Whoa, my little horny toad, take it easy,” Noah commands, and pushes me off his body. He chuckles, and the sound excites me. “I can’t wait to tell you about this later,” he says. He scoops me up in his arms. Runs. Picks something up. “Damn, Poe,” he mutters.
I’m barely hearing him, so deafening is my heartbeat roaring within me. Pounding in my groin. Sex. That’s all I want from Noah Miles. Sex. Now. With my good hand I grab a fistful of dreads and yank his head toward me. His mouth, so close, my teeth nip at his jaw. I want his tongue. . . .
A flash of light goes off in my face, but I don’t care. It could be a pair of headlights on a truck barreling at me full speed for all I care. As long as I get these goddamn clothes off. . . .
“Riley, damn it,” Noah mutters, and his hand stills mine as I find his crotch.
I feel as though I’m flying through the air, Noah carrying me, and I have not a care in the world except crawling as close to him as I physically can. The wind pushes at my face, and I bury it against his neck. I kiss him there, taking small nips, licks, and I find his earlobe with the silver stud he wears. I pull it into my mouth and groan.
“Jesus H. Christ Almighty, girl,” Noah groans, and pulls his head away. “Riley, give me a break, darlin’.”
We’re moving so fast I can’t make my legs creep up his body any higher. I’m nearly out of my mind with lust, the scent of Noah an addicting drug. He keeps pushing me away, and it’s pissing me the fuck off. “Please,” I beg.
The next instant happens so fast my head spins. I’m flung onto a leather seat, my right wrist is tied to the leather door pull, and I’m crammed inside, door shut. My brain is fuzzy. I feel light-headed. Dizzy. The pain in my left shoulder begins to throb.
The driver’s-side door opens, closes. I shake my head and look up. Noah’s staring at me, his eyebrows lifted in amusement. One corner of his mouth is tilted upward. Yet a pained look lingers in his eyes.
He cocks his head. “You okay?”
I shake my head again. The fog is clearing, and I glance around. “What happened?” Peering through the Rover’s windshield, I notice I’m back at the cottage. I turn my stare on Noah. “I’ve got to go back—” I move to open the Rover’s door, but my hand is tied. “What the hell?”
“You can’t go back, darlin’,” he says. “You’re out of ammo. You’ll get yourself killed. There’s nothing more you can do.”
I try to lift my left hand to untie my right, and pain shoots through me. “Son of a bitch . . .” I look at my shoulder. It’s hanging lower than it should. “You gonna help me with this, Miles?”
Noah shakes his head, starts up the motor, and puts the Ro
ver in reverse. “Hell no,” he replies. “Not until you calm down.”
Anger boils inside me, and my eyes dart to his neck. His antisexual attraction sachet is hanging there. I know exactly what happened. I lift a furious gaze at Noah. “You actually used that on me?” It’s getting light now, and I see more than just the shadow of Noah’s face.
He smirks. “Had no choice. You were being stubborn.” He stops, puts the Rover in drive, and we start down the lane. I glance across the field and notice a man walking toward us with long, purposeful strides. A black-and-white sheepdog jogs at his side. He lifts his hand, and Noah stops.
“Can I help you two this mornin’?” he asks. His eyes light on my shoulder.
He’s a handsome guy, great accent, late thirties, early forties. The slightest touch of silver tinges his temples. Hazel eyes. Broad shoulders.
“Ah, no, we were just out for a hike,” Noah explains. “Nice standing stones.”
“Och, yeah,” the man says. “Thousand years old or better, those.” He glances at me again briefly. I can tell he sees something’s not right. I smile at him.
“All right, then, I best get to my chores. Enjoy your day,” the man says, then turns and finds his dog chasing the sheep in the field. “Och, Shep, you wicked dog. Get back here!” He grins and waves, and Noah continues on.
“Tell me what happened,” Noah asks. “I know you went in after Eli and Arcos.” He shoots me a mercurial glare. “What you did to me at the guesthouse? Shitty.”
“You’re leaving me with a dislocated shoulder,” I answer.
“Just until we get back to the flat,” Noah says.