He was coming to find his brothers.
“He’s in a lot of pain. We should see what the trouble is.”
Eidolon caressed the neck of the bottle like a lover. Growing up with privilege and wealth had given him a taste for only the finest liquor. Not that Shade couldn’t appreciate the expensive stuff, but cheap rotgut got you just as warm.
“Let’s find Roag,” Eidolon said, as he poured a drink. “He’ll want to go.”
“Let’s not and say we did,” Shade muttered, and E leveled an annoyed look at him. Shade rolled his eyes. “Come on. You’re not the one with fire shooting up his leg.” E could sense the existence of his brothers, same as Shade and Roag, but it seemed as if only Shade had gotten saddled with the ability to feel this mysterious brother’s physical pain.
“It won’t take long.”
Shade shoved to his feet. “Fine, but if Roag is at another opium den, you’re the one going in to get him.”
Roag wasn’t at an opium den. Eidolon could have dealt with that. Instead, he and Shade found Roag in an Irish demon pub. A demon pub full of horny females. Eidolon and Shade had made the mistake of entering, and they’d become stuck for two days, unable to leave until the last female was sexually satisfied.
Only the fact that their youngest brother was in so much pain that even Eidolon could now feel it forced them out of there. The needs of their sibling overrode the needs of the females, and they were finally free.
Exhausted and on the verge of collapse, but free.
They dragged their sorry asses to the nearest Harrowgate, where Eidolon studied the panels etched into the glossy black walls. He sensed the need to head west, but he couldn’t pinpoint more than that. It was Shade who fingered the crude map of the United States.
“Illinois?”
“Chicago.”
Roag yawned. “How the hell do you know?”
“Dunno.” Shade was looking a little green around the gills, and Eidolon knew it was more than exhaustion and a sexual hangover. He was feeling the effects of their brother’s pain ten times stronger than Eidolon was. A couple of times at the pub he’d even collapsed on the ground, writhing in agony. Roag didn’t seem to be affected at all.
The Harrowgate opened up into a run-down factory district. Low, gray clouds obscured the sky, and smoke billowing from tall stacks turned the autumn air heavy with gloom, as if the very city felt their sibling’s misery.
Eidolon definitely felt it. Now that they were close, his skin tightened to the point of pain, and a throbbing ache settled low in his gut.
Shade went taut, his head swiveling as he zeroed in on their brother. A heartbeat later, he shot down the street. “This way.”
They moved quickly through a bustling section of town, where street vendors hawked cheap food to the factory workers, and when they passed a prostitute hawking her particular brand of wares, Roag stopped.
“I’ll catch up,” he said, his Irish accent thick with lust.
Damn him. Eidolon knew arguing wouldn’t do any good, and Shade was already out of sight. With a juicy curse, he jogged ahead. The cavity in Eidolon’s chest where brotherly sensation centered grew warmer as they approached a more sparsely populated area. The heat exploded into an inferno when Shade darted through the side door of a building whose faded sign indicated it had been both a textile mill and a brewery.
Inside, the windows had been covered with tarps and wood, and eight vampires stood around a broken, naked body hanging from the ceiling. Various tools lay scattered like bones on the floor—hammers, blades, pliers. But what froze Eidolon’s blood in his veins was the blowtorch one of the male vamps was holding.
The stench of burning flesh permeated the air.
Rage nearly turned Eidolon inside out. “You sick bastards,” he snarled, and the vampires spun around.
The vampire with the blowtorch moved toward them with the slinky grace of a snake, and the others followed. “Who are you?”
“We’re his brothers.” Shade seized an overturned chair and smashed it against the wall. Wood shrapnel showered them all. Shade snagged one thick shard out of the air and gestured at the bloody demon with his makeshift stake. “And we’re only going to ask you once to clear out.”
The vampire laughed. “You’re risking your necks to rescue Wraith? Why?”
Eidolon had never had a problem with vampires… until now. “Did you miss the brother thing?” He swept up a broken chair leg and tested its weight in his palm. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to plunge the pointy end into the vampire’s heart right then and there.
“Do not interfere.” The lone female vamp eased up next to the big male. “This is a vampire matter—”
“He’s not a vampire,” Eidolon bit out, because by now, he’d had it with these assholes.
“As much as I hate to say it,” the male with the blowtorch said, “the whelp is a vampire. Leave us. This is your last warning.”
Frowning, Eidolon studied the body swinging from the ceiling. His dermoire was visible under the layers of caked and fresh blood, so this was definitely their brother, and he was definitely a demon. Eidolon had no idea what this madman was talking about, but really, it didn’t matter. They had come prepared for a battle, and in addition to his chair-leg stake, Eidolon had an arsenal of weapons stashed beneath his long wool coat.
No doubt these vamps had decades, if not centuries, of experience on Eidolon and Shade, but they weren’t completely helpless. Shade could scramble anyone’s insides with a touch, and Eidolon’s Justice Dealer background had given him a unique perspective on pain and injury.
Wraith’s low, drawn-out moan drifted through the factory like a ghost. Eidolon moved forward. These bastards were going to die.
Four vampires were dust. Two had run, and two were now hog-tied and propped against the factory wall. One of them was the asshole who had threatened them, but sitting there, bloody and missing a few teeth, he didn’t look so threatening anymore. Shade didn’t think so, anyway.
Shade kicked the male, who’d said he was Wraith’s uncle. “Why can’t we kill them?”
“Because Wraith should have that honor,” Eidolon said, and Shade supposed that was a good point.
Dropping their weapons, E and Shade crossed the room to Wraith. Shade pushed his brother’s hair, matted with blood, away from his face.
Oh, Gods. “E… oh, fuck.”
Eidolon’s face went ashen. “Those bastards.” His voice sounded as if it had been dredged up from the pits of hell. “They gouged out his eyes.”
And that was only a small part of what they’d done to him. Among other brutal acts, they’d opened him up from groin to sternum. In several places, broken bone jutted from between shredded muscle and tendon.
Shade bled fury through his pores. “Get him down,” he rasped. “Dear Gods, get him down.”
“Hey, boys.” Roag’s voice drifted through the building.
“Where have you been?” Shade snarled, as Eidolon began lowering Wraith’s shattered body from the ceiling, the chains that held him clanging.
Roag sauntered toward them, kicking through the piles of vampire dust, looking calmly at the two left alive. “You two handled things well enough.” He jerked his chin at Wraith. “Looks like you found our long-lost little brother. Not much left. Leave him. We’ll go find the whore I just balled.”
“Just keep an eye on the vamps,” Eidolon snapped, his patience with Roag nearly as frayed as Shade’s.
They lowered Wraith slowly and carefully. He didn’t move, and the only reason they knew he was alive was because Shade had channeled his gift into his brother and felt his heart beating weakly. His pulse had been too faint to feel with their fingers.
Wraith lay on the floor of the warehouse in a pool of his own blood. Eidolon’s dermoire glowed as he gripped Wraith’s wrist, but after a moment, he looked up and shook his head.
“He’s too far gone.”
Shade knew that, could feel it, could see it in t
he massive injuries that should have killed Wraith long before this. “We have to try. Maybe we can find a doctor who won’t ask questions.”
Roag shrugged. “We could nab one from a hospital and force him to help. Kill him later so he doesn’t talk. Want me to go get one?”
He made it sound like he was going to stop in at the corner grocer and pick up a loaf of bread.
“No human doctor can do what we can do.” Eidolon’s shoulders slumped. “But it doesn’t matter. He’s not going to make it another five minutes.”
Roag picked up the blowtorch. “Can we kill the vamps now?”
“Hell, yeah,” Shade spat.
He shifted, prepared to rip the assholes apart, but froze when Wraith’s finger touched his knee. Not just his finger, but his whole hand. Somehow, the guy had found the strength to move his shattered arm and grip Shade’s pants. Shade brought his hand down on top of Wraith’s.
Wraith’s skin was icy, his hand shaking, but he managed to squeeze, and in that slight motion, he conveyed his message.
He wanted to live.
Shade’s gaze met Eidolon’s. “We’re going to save him. Damn it all, we’re going to try.”
Eidolon didn’t hesitate. He thumbed Wraith’s swollen upper lip, revealing two fangs. “He really is a vampire.” He turned to their captives. “Does he feed?” When they just stared, he snarled. “Does he feed?”
Uncle Vamp nodded grudgingly.
“Roag,” Shade said, “go fetch that prostitute.”
Roag grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
“Not for sex, you fucking lackbrain. We need her for blood if Wraith needs to feed. And find us a doctor. You can adjust his memories afterward. Go!” Shade expected Roag to argue, and for a heartbeat Shade thought he might have gone too far. Roag was prickly, generally listening only to Eidolon. But maybe the two days of nonstop sex at the pub had taken the piss out of him, and he finally nodded sharply and headed out.
“Shade,” Eidolon said quietly, as though he didn’t want Wraith to hear too much, “can you get inside him and keep his blood moving while I try to mend his bones?”
“Have you done that before?”
“Once, when my sister broke her arm. But this is…”
Eidolon shook his head, and Shade understood. He hated feeling helpless as much as Eidolon did. He’d never done anything like this before. If he screwed up…
“Come on, Shade.” Eidolon lay his palm on Wraith’s thigh, over one extremely nasty burn. “We have to do this.”
Cursing, Shade gripped Wraith’s hand and channeled his gift into him, searching out his organs, probing for injuries and weaknesses. E’s dermoire lit up, and the snapped shin bone jutting through Wraith’s skin began to knit together and ease back into place. Shade knew for a fact that E’s healing gift was extremely painful, but Wraith didn’t even stir. His heart stuttered, but Shade forced it into a strong rhythm, and gradually, it began to beat normally on its own.
When Eidolon was satisfied that he’d healed their brother’s bones, he gently tipped Wraith’s face up, fury darkening E’s expression as he studied the empty eye sockets.
And then, with the coldest smile Shade had ever seen on anyone, he turned to the vampires. “Eeny meeny, miny moe,” he said, one finger going between the two, and ending on the dark-haired one. Smoothly, deliberately, he picked up a shard of wood and crossed to the vamps.
“Looks like today is your lucky day,” he said, and stabbed the dark-haired vamp through the chest. He didn’t even wait for the male to start flaming before he moved to Wraith’s uncle, whose face was etched with terror.
Eidolon crouched and roughly gripped his jaw, tipping it up so Eidolon’s dark eyes locked with the vampire’s blue ones.
And Shade knew exactly what was about to happen.
Consciousness came to Wraith in bits and pieces, which was pretty much what he felt like. He didn’t wonder what had happened, because his nightmares had played the events of his capture and torture over and over. The only question he had was how long he’d been down.
He opened his eyes. Blinked a few times. Eyes. He had some.
“Hey.” A dark-haired male peered into Wraith’s face. “I’m Shade. Your brother. You’re at my place. Well, it’s Eidolon’s place too. He’s right here.”
Another male moved to the side of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
Wraith swallowed. His throat hurt. “Like some vampires strung me up and tortured me,” he rasped. Swallowed again. “Why… why’d you save me?”
Eidolon seemed stumped by the question. “You’re our brother.”
“So?”
Shade swore and cast a glance at Eidolon. “Great. Another Roag.” He turned back to Wraith. “Roag’s our other brother. He’s not here. Wasn’t there while we were putting you back together in the factory, either.”
“Shade…”
“What? Fucker dropped off the doctor and a whore and took off to find another prostitute.”
“Doctor?” Wraith lifted his head, but when pain clanged in his skull, he dropped it back onto the pillow.
Eidolon nodded. “It took some persuasion to get the doctor to help, but once he stopped blubbering and praying, he pitched in. He had to tack your intestines into place and transfer some of Shade’s blood into your body, and that pulled you through. Hate to say it, but if not for the doc, you wouldn’t have made it.” He looked down at his feet. “Shade and I couldn’t have saved you without his help.”
Wraith still didn’t get why they’d saved him, and hell, he wasn’t even sure he was grateful. “What… what happened to the vampires?”
Shade bared his teeth. “They’re dead.”
Good. Wraith hoped their deaths had been slow and painful.
“We’re going to let you get some rest,” Eidolon said, and Wraith felt a slow burn of panic, followed immediately by shame that he was afraid to be alone.
Somehow, Eidolon knew. “We’ll be in the next room. One of us will always be here.” His gaze locked with Wraith’s. “No one will hurt you like that again, brother. You have my word.”
No, no one would. Because once he was on his feet again, he was going to spend every waking moment training. To kill. And then he was going to hunt vampires until their kind was extinct.
“Hey,” Shade said softly. “I recognize that look. Too well. Just concentrate on getting better, and know we have your back.”
Wraith’s brothers left the room, and as he watched them leave, a strange, churning sensation filled his chest. Hatred and bitterness took up the majority of the space, but woven in there was something else… something he’d never felt. Gratitude? Affection?
Maybe not the latter, but he appreciated what his brothers had done. And no matter what, he couldn’t deny that, for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel so alone.
THE DISH
Where authors give you the inside scoop!
From the desk of Michelle Rowen
Dear Reader,
When I began writing my Immortality Bites series, I thought it would be fun to play with vampire myths. As a longtime fan of vampire fiction, I wanted to see vamps more as heroes than villains. To do that, I had to humanize them a lot. Gone went death-by-sunlight—my vamps can go out during the day. Gone went the compulsion to sink their fangs into any unsuspecting neck—my vamps get their blood from sterilized sources and well-paid donors. Gone went the idea that vamps are undead—my vamps breathe and have regular heartbeats. I kept a few things, though: immortality, extra strength, no reflection, and the fact that my vampires were pursued by hunters who really wanted to slay them.
Now with the fourth book in the series, STAKES & STILETTOS, I asked myself, at this point, what’s the absolute worst thing that could happen to my heroine, Sarah Dearly? And it was very simple, really. Now that she’s somewhat accustomed to being a regular, everyday vampire who doesn’t have to worry about any of those nastier vampire myths, I should give all of them to her in full force.
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So I cursed her—or rather, she’s cursed by a vengeful ex-classmate who’s gotten into dark magic big-time since high school—to become a “nightwalker.” These are the nasty vamps who give other vampires a bad reputation; the vamps who are the reason vampire hunters and their sharp wooden stakes exist.
Sarah now has a big problem. She can’t control her thirst for blood. She can’t go out during the day. She can’t enter a house without permission. Her heart has stopped beating and she’s officially room temperature. Her immortal life has gone from pretty good to absolutely horrific as she searches frantically, along with her master vampire boyfriend Thierry, to find a way to break the curse before it’s permanent.
Life for Sarah, forgive the pun, sucks.
In the most entertaining way possible, of course.
Happy reading!
www.michellerowen.com
From the desk of Larissa Ione
Dear Reader,
Ah, my boy Wraith. Of all the demon brothers, he’s the most, well… screwed up. Which, of course, is what makes him so fun.
As an avid reader and obsessed moviegoer, I’ve always found that my favorite characters are often not the heroes, but either the shadowy bad boy or the charismatic and/or messed-up buddy who hangs out with the hero.
In the TV series Angel I adored Angel, but there was always something darkly yummy about Spike. In the TV series Firefly, Malcolm was my favorite (after all, he is a bad boy), but the selfish, immoral, and wildly funny Jayne held a strange appeal for me, as well. And the movie Sahara? My favorite character wasn’t Matthew McConaughey’s Dirk Pitt; it was his goofy yet oddly competent sidekick, Al.
In my mind, Wraith was always a blend of those types of characters. Someone you either love or hate, maybe both at the same time. Because when these characters reveal their soft side, you still know that deep down, there’s a scary male in there, just waiting to emerge and kick someone’s butt. And when their dark side breaks the surface, watch out, because only a very special woman is going to be able to peel back those layers and find the tenderness inside.