The Darkness Within (Sanguine Series: Awakening Book 1)

by H. M Reilly

  “Just curious.” He barely looked up, shrugging his shoulders. He rose from his seat, glancing over at Charlotte.

  “Hey, bud, if you're not here to get a tattoo, I need you to leave.

  “I'll call you later. Maybe we should do something. You know, hang out.”

  “I don't think so, Michael,” she said. Leila snickered and quickly gathered her purse, heading towards the back where the green-haired tattoo artist sat waiting. Charlotte glanced up at Michael as he turned to step out the door, a sleazy smile appearing on his face.

  “I think you'll change your mind later.”

  “Okay.” Charlotte rolled her eyes, and Michael stepped out the door. She made her way to the back and had a seat. She could overhear her sister speaking with the tattoo artist about what she wanted. After looking over a few options on a computer together, Charlotte made herself comfortable on the chair, ready to get tattooed.

  The two sisters were done in less than a couple of hours, Charlotte with her black and gray rose and Leila with her pink unicorn. They were wrapping up when Leila brought Michael up. “So, who was that guy, Charlie?”

  “Don't worry about it. He's just a guy,” she said. The sun hung low in the sky when they stepped out the front door of the shop. The breeze was now a strong wind, carrying dark clouds north toward the mountains. Tonight would be cold.

  On their way out of town, Charlotte stopped at the gym. The sign outside stated that self-defense classes would be starting just after Halloween in a couple of weeks. After Michael's appearance at the tavern a week before, she thought it might be a good idea. Her dad had taught her the basics of self-defense and handling a hunting knife when she was young, but a lot had changed since then.

  “Why'd we stop here?” Leila asked.

  “It's nothing to worry about,” she said.

  “You sure? It doesn't have to do with that guy we ran into earlier? The one that was bugging you?” Leila pressed. Charlotte glanced over at her sister as she started the truck back up. “You know you can tell me.”

  “I don't want you telling Dad. I don't want him worrying about this 'cause you know he will.”

  “I won't tell him, Charlie,” Leila said. She reached over for her sister's hand with a soft smile on her face. Charlotte smiled back at her sister, giving her hand a squeeze before pulling out of the parking lot. “Thank you.”

  The first few drops fell from the sky and turned into a steady drizzle by the time they pulled into their grandparents’ driveway. After having dinner, Charlotte and Leila enjoyed a slice of homemade apple pie for dessert. Satisfied, Charlotte led her sister up to her room for the two of them to hang out. They spent the rest of the evening lying in bed and watching movies. Sometime after midnight, Leila fell asleep, but Charlotte couldn’t sleep. Thoughts raced through her mind. Instead of dwelling, she pulled out her laptop.

  Out of curiosity, she pulled up an internet browser and started searching for the meaning of a black rose. Not that she cared what Michael thought, but he seemed against the idea, and she wanted to know why. She scrolled through search results on flowers and roses. She scrolled all the way through the results that led her to an unfamiliar website forum with black gothic styled backgrounds and dark images. Charlotte never considered herself a dark person, but as she waded through the information in front of her, she didn’t veer away.

  She scrolled through until she found a discussion post on the black rose, reading about the connotations people associated with black roses. People talked about demons and vampires. All the talk sounded like superstition and dark fairy tales to her, but she continued her reading, clicking links that led her deeper down the rabbit hole.

  She came across an image of the rose that looked strangely like the one she’d collected from the forest outside of Hollow's Creek. She paid extra attention to the details. The nightshade rose, as it was called, appeared almost black in color. The petals were crushed into a potion used as a blood substitute and even used in alcoholic drinks around underground clubs and bars.

  She continued to read, learning that the black rose not only symbolized immortality, but acceptance of a single black rose invited death into your life. Accepting a single nightshade rose meant something even more specific. Acceptance invited a vampire into one's home, but not just any vampire. The nightshade rose happened to be the symbol of one of the oldest living vampires, one by the name of Ramsey.

  The forum continued with further superstition about vampire lineage and stories, but Charlotte shook her head. She was only feeding her curiosity d, but she wasn’t sure she believed any of it. Charlotte closed her laptop and turned off the light, turning her attention to another movie.

  CHAPTER 15

  Patrick closed the bar for the night. Delia would be out for Thalia’s funeral ceremonies, and he didn’t have enough people working on his staff to keep it open. Since he opened the doors of Viper’s Cavern in Colorado, he’d had trouble keeping enough staff. He couldn’t hire just anybody to work in the Cavern. Despite the occasional human, he mostly catered to the supernatural.

  The supernatural population near Sequoia was small, but it was enough to keep him in business. Many vampires and shifters never acted civil enough to keep a job working around the humans who stepped foot through the front door. Not that there were many humans who knew about the supernatural underground or could handle the environment. He didn’t need a staff of weak people retching over the side of the bar when things became violent—not that Patrick tolerated violence in the Cavern. He even posted a sign in the bar about it. The last time an act of violence erupted, he nearly ripped off a werewolf’s head for being disruptive.

  Some shifters and vampires even had trouble working with other supernaturals, while others couldn’t work with a demon, even one such as Patrick. He couldn’t blame them, though. Some nights he found it difficult controlling his temper even with the whiskey flowing through his veins.

  He reached for the bottle of whiskey sitting on the desk, still focused on the computer screen. Tonight, he had some extra work to finish, and he was nearly done. Just a few more cells on his spreadsheet needed to be filled out. He unscrewed the cap and took a generous drink of his whiskey.

  The back door opened when he placed the whiskey bottle back down. His amber gaze flickered as his pupils widened. He took a whiff of the air, rising from his seat in the office and entering the hallway. “Announce yourself,” he called out.

  “Oh. Hey, Patrick. It’s me. Didn't think I'd see you tonight.”

  “What are you doing here? We’re closed tonight,” he said. He flicked on the hallway light to find his newest waitress. His pupils constricted back to normal. Morgan was a dark-haired woman with multiple piercings in each ear and thick eyebrows. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail.

  “What? Nobody told me.”

  “Yes, I did, Morgan. I left you a voicemail.”

  “Oh shit,” she said. “I didn’t see that.”

  “Now you know. Just be here tomorrow night.”

  “Okie. I’ll see you then.” A smile appeared across her face, revealing a missing tooth on her upper jaw. She adjusted her purse and went out the back door. Patrick followed and made sure the door was locked before going back to his office.

  The night was still young when Patrick finished for the night. Accounting never took him nearly as long as inventory. Tedious tasks he preferred to delegate off to his bartenders. He exited the building through the back door and crossed the parking lot to his car, sitting just beneath one of the parking lights. He looked up at the dark night sky, the waning moon hanging high. The rest of the night was free.

  Many things swam through Patrick’s mind, but the one thing that occupied his mind above all was finding the Eaton hunter. Revenge drove his thoughts, and his bloodthirst had increased since Thalia’s death. Over the last week, he learned the hunter’s name was Logan, and it wasn’t the first time he heard that name. He knew the kind of damage Logan Eaton could do and had even w
itnessed the brutality Logan showed demons lesser than Patrick.

  He always listened in, picking up conversations that floated around the Cavern. Many whispers slithered into his ears about Logan, but some he couldn’t count on as reliable. As Patrick listened over the past three nights, he heard a whisper or two that Logan had resurfaced in Colorado where the young hunter had grown up not far from Viper's Cavern. The Eaton family had lived in Colorado for many generations. Living in Colorado with such a powerful hunter family present was risky, but many supernaturals still chose to hide away in the Rocky Mountains.

  Patrick headed west out of town, going home. The house was dark and quiet except for the light fixed over the porch, which didn’t give off much to chase the shadows away. He stepped out of the vehicle, and with a glance around, he took the path leading farther into the forest north of his house.

  He followed the path, crickets chirping in the trees. Suddenly a silence washed over the forest, and he stopped. He sensed a familiar presence. He even remembered her name, but it was her vampiric energy he knew well. A flicker of red flame flashed in his eyes when he met her dark chocolate eyes. If it wasn’t for the purple shirt she wore, he might have overlooked her.

  “Sienna. What are you doing here in my neck of the woods?”

  “What do you think I’m doing, Padriag?” the woman said, a crooked grin appearing across her face. Her long braids were pulled into a thick bun on top of her head.

  “Don't call me by that name,” he said. He hadn’t been called that name in years. Many vampires didn’t even know his human name, the name he associated with a long-lost humanity.

  “I forgot how sensitive you are about your nature,” she said.

  Patrick narrowed his gaze in her direction, pupils dilating. With a quick flash of movement and a low, guttural growl, he rushed the woman and pinned her against the nearest tree. Dark veins rippled beneath his eyes as they turned red. “What are you doing here, Sienna?”

  She laughed, and with a burst of energy, she pushed Patrick away from her. Her eyes turned blacker than a void, and her fangs extended. “Hunting. I know you don’t, demon. And if you think Ramsey’s somehow involved, you can forget about that. I haven't talked to him in decades, so you can chill out.”

  “Well, if you aren’t here for Ramsey, why are you here in these mountains? In my mountains.”

  “Are they your mountains now, Padriag?” She smirked. “I'm just passing through. Traveling. And I always loved these mountains.”

  “I see. Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “I might’ve,” she said, a smile appearing across her dark lips stained with blood. Her fangs were still extended.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “A bit now. What’d you care?”

  “I’m searching for someone. Maybe you heard of him.”

  “And who might that be if not Ramsey?”

  “If you’ve been in Colorado, you should already know.”

  “You referring to the witch hunter that everyone is crazy about?” Sienna said. “What’s his name?”

  “Everyone knows him as Logan.”

  “Mm. The Eaton hunter. The last I heard, he killed off a coven, but I don’t think he’s gone. Been keeping my ears out. I like immortality.”

  Sienna vanished without another word. Patrick stood among the trees until her energy was little more than a vibration. He could still smell her in the forest as he made his way back down the hill. His dark energy bristled from the run-in with a vampire, one of the last he would prefer to see. For all he knew, Sienna could be lying about Ramsey.

  There were few supernaturals Patrick was able to tolerate or get along with. Ramsey was never one he tolerated even in the least. The two had been acquainted for centuries and always on bad terms. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw the old bloodsucker, and he hoped he wouldn’t run into him anytime soon. Fucking Sienna.

  Patrick went inside to find the house quiet. After a quick check, he was assured the house empty except for himself. He turned, went back into his huge living area, and grabbed a small tin box from his home bar, pulling out a hand-rolled clove cigarette. His favorite way to smoke. He slipped the cigarette between his lips, and with a whisper, he lit the end with a flame that appeared at the tip of his index finger.

  He listened to the quiet as the rain fell outside. There was nothing more pleasing than the sound of rain hitting a tin roof. It was calming to the beast within. A bolt of lightning cracked across the sky, and thunder rumbled throughout the house. The thick clouds floating across the sky didn’t even part to let the moon shine through, and the chill in the air snuck in the house through a cracked door nearby.

  Suddenly the front door opened, and with it came a gust of wind and rain. The scent of brimstone and ash wafted in. Patrick rose from his favorite seat and stalked towards the door, his pupils widening. He heard a familiar voice call out his name.

  Lana rose to the top of the steps. She wore a long black dress with billowing sleeves.

  “Lana? What are you doing here?”

  “I thought I’d drop by. Me and Delia, that is.” Lana stepped toward Patrick as another woman rose from the stairs. She wore a dress much like Lana’s, and her face appeared very pale in the darkness of the living room.

  “Patrick. Haven't seen you in a while.”

  “Likewise, Delia.”

  “All alone tonight, demon?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “We figured you could use the company,” Delia said. She crossed the room and had a seat on one of the leather couches fixed in the living room. “Where’s your puppy dog?”

  “Probably out on a walk with John. I haven’t been home long,” he said. “What are you two even doing here?”

  “I came to see you, Patrick.”

  “What is it you want, Delia?” Patrick stepped across the room to his bar in the corner. He pulled out a glass and made himself a whiskey, watching the two females in his living room. Lana made herself comfortable in an overstuffed chair, draping her legs over the side. Rain fell steadily against the roof.

  “I hear you’re looking for the Eaton hunter, Logan.”

  “Indeed, I am,” he said as a wicked grin appeared across his lips. “What can you tell me about him?”

  “I can tell you plenty about him, Patrick. What do you need to know?”

  “Have you seen him recently?”

  “Of course I have. I'm fucking him.”

  “Well, well. No loyalty to this man?”

  “I know it was him who killed most of my coven, Patrick.”

  “Then do tell me where I can find him,” he said.

  “How about you make me a drink first? I know you don’t like people touching your alcohol.”

  Patrick grumbled with a narrowed gaze but grabbed another glass and poured her a whiskey. When he offered her the glass, she gave him a crooked grin and took a slow drink. He growled at her with much annoyance. “Get on with it.”

  “What?” she said. “Oh, right. So, about Logan…”

  Delia didn’t stay long after giving Patrick the information he was looking for. He absorbed the information, which gave him a path to start hunting. It was only a matter of when he would start looking.

  He rose from his seat and went to pour himself another whiskey, then carried his glass out to the damp patio, rain sprinkling on his warm skin. The front door opened once again, and a large German shepherd barreled inside. The dog barked loudly, running out to the patio. “I was wondering where you had gone off to, John.”

  “Just went out for a walk, Mister Delaney,” he said.

  “After all this time, still calling me Mister Delaney?” Patrick teased. He turned to face the older man with his salt and pepper hair, dressed in slacks and a black jacket. John stopped in the doorway, and a crooked grin appeared on Patrick’s lips as he reached down to scratch the dog between the ears.

  “You are still my employer, aren’t you?”

 
Patrick slipped a cigarette between his lips and lit up the end. He traded it for his glass of whiskey, bringing it to his lips as the corner hooked into a smirk. “You’ve always been more than that. Who else could I trust to keep my secrets after centuries?”

  “Ahh…the reason you still keep me around, sir,” John spoke, mirroring the ironic amusement in his tone.

  “Enough of the ‘sir’ bullshit, John.” He stepped into the house, lifting his blackened eyes toward the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. “I’m surprised you are still here. It’s after midnight.”

  “I’m aware of the time, Patrick. I just enjoy the quiet out here, especially on nights like this.”

  “I cannot argue with that,” he said. He shut the sliding glass door to the patio and made his way over to the bar. He tapped the loose ash off the end of his cigarette and took the ashtray with him on his way over to the couch. Azrael followed right behind him. He sat on the leather cushions and leaned his head back, taking the cigarette from his lips.

  “And you? You aren’t normally home this early, sir.” John said.

  Patrick rolled his head across the back of the couch to look up at John, exposing the faded serpent tattoo on his pale neck. His eyes were black, soulless voids, and they flickered with a crimson hue. “I’m trying to figure some things out.”

  “And what might that be, sir?”

  “How to find and destroy a hunter.”

  “Sounds simple for someone such as you.”

  “I just need to find him. This Eaton hunter.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Charlotte found Viper’s Cavern without any difficulty. The location had been hidden in the back of her mind since she last set foot inside. The parking lot was dimly lit, with only a few cars scattered throughout. She parked her truck right beneath one of the flickering lights near the front door.