“Where have you guys been?” Cairo demands. “You’ve been gone for hours. This wasn’t authorized.”
Oh, Cairo. Such a stickler for the rules. Though he’s the younger brother, he acts like he’s everyone’s boss, not just Thames. This afternoon was worth it just to stick it to him.
“Funny story, actually.” Thames has the same thought I have, apparently, and grins. “Let’s see. We flew into town, and stole a car.”
“You… stole a car.” Cairo’s voice comes out strangled.
“A Hellcat, actually. And we might have burned down the mall. Part of it, anyway.”
“A… Hellcat… burned…”
Cassia gets up and lays a hand on Cairo’s arm, before he explodes. “Were you guys seen?”
“Naw,” Thames says. “Of course not.”
“There’s no way to guarantee that,” Cairo says. “How could you do something so stupid?”
“Well, what did you expect? We were dying down here, bro,” Thames says.
Cairo stomps off. “Completely reckless,” he mutters under his breath. Thames chuckles. He’s gotten under his brother’s skin once again.
“Was that really necessary?” Cassia asks, but her tone is more teasing than harsh.
I give Cass a look that says, It’s Thames.
She glances behind her to make sure Cairo’s not around, then leans in to whisper, “Take me with you next time.”
I laugh. We girls proceed into the kitchen, to help Isolde finish up dinner.
“So, what other kinds of trouble did you two get into out there?” Cassia asks me.
I chance a flirty glance at Thames, and he gives me a wink. “You have no idea.”
Read more of the Angels & Demons series by binging the anniversary edition box set: http://www.meganlinski.com/angelsdemons
Fall for vampires and shifters in Court of Vampires, Book One of The Shifter Prophecy: http://www.meganlinski.com/courtofvampires
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The Vampire Rise by Juliana Haygert
The Vampire Rise: A Vampire Heir Short Story
That night, I stayed up until late. I remember helping the townsfolks to set up the main street of our village for the festival the next day and coming back home when my mother and my three siblings were already in bed. My father had been up, waiting for me.
The moment I walked into our little home, he stood from the chair at the scratched kitchen table and faced me. “Where have you been, Drake?” he asked, his voice rough. It seemed he had another bad day at work. As a cobbler, he often worked too much and made too little. It was hard to maintain a family of six with too little.
At sixteen, I was already as tall as he was, but even so I lowered my head. “I was helping Marcel and Marion,” I told him. He knew the twins were my best friends. “Their parents will have a stand at the fair tomorrow and they were in charge of setting it up.”
My father frowned. “Instead of helping out other families, you should have helped ours.”
“What …?”
“I had to work until later, and your mother was having a hard time with your siblings.”
I paused. My brothers were ten and eight, and my sister was two. The boys could have easily behaved and helped out themselves. Besides, I had made a few coins by working tonight.
I bit my tongue, so I wouldn’t retort at his face. Instead, I said, “I’m sorry.”
Father grunted under his breath, then spat, “Just wash up and go to bed.” Grunting some more, he marched into his bedroom.
Feeling suddenly a little disappointed in myself, I washed up at the kitchen’s basin, then turned to the second bedroom in the house, the one I shared with all my siblings.
Careful with each breath I took, I tiptoed into the cramped room. Four thin, ripped mattresses took most of the space, then there was a tall dresser which we all shared, and a small window. That was it.
With a sigh, I sat down on my mattress and stared at my sleeping siblings. The light coming from the candle burning on top of the dresser flickered, giving them trembling shadows. But I didn’t need any light to see them. I knew their faces well. With black hair and green eyes and sharp faces, my brothers looked like younger versions of my father and me. Now my sister looked just like my mother with her brown curls and blue eyes.
I also didn’t need light to see the hollow of their cheeks, the slimness of their arms, and the pronouncement of their bones. I often gave them a little of my share, but it wasn’t enough. At my age, I could work around town, doing odd things here and there in exchange for a coin or two, but most of these jobs required strength and stamina—and I needed to eat well to do that.
But how could I when I saw these three faces getting thinner?
What I had to do was drop out of school so I could spend the entire day helping my father and working with him, rather than only half of the day. And I would continue with my odd jobs during the evening, of course, since they provided me with an extra change.
I could worry about that tomorrow, though. If I wanted to get up early in the morning and help some more, it was time to rest.
I reached for the hem of my shirt when I heard a faint scream coming from outside.
I froze.
Silence reigned for the next two minutes and I thought I was either imagining things, or it was someone playing.
Another scream ripped through the night.
Then a third one, louder.
I shot to my feet and ran to the door.
My father burst from his room. “You heard it?”
“I did,” I told him.
“Stay here.” He pointed his finger at me as he walked to the front door. “I’m gonna check it out.”
For some reason, I wanted to tell him to not open the door. To stay safe inside. To protect us. But we lived in a small village, where everyone knew everyone. If someone was hurt or worse, we had to help.
Holding something behind his back, my father opened the door and spied out. Curious, I approached him. First thing I saw was the dagger in his hand. I had seen the beautiful, intricate dagger before. It was a family heirloom passed on to him by his father, and from his grandfather to his father … all the way back to his great-great-grandfather, who was said to be a secret knight for some royal family. If that was true or not, I had no idea.
The second thing I noticed was the chaos outside. Once the door was opened, the sounds increased tenfold. Besides screams, there was shouting, yelling, and rapid footsteps. And the sound of broken … things?
I stared out over my father’s shoulder.
My heart skipped a beat at the sight in front of me.
Townspeople ran amok, crying and shouting, doors and windows were broken, and there was a huge fire at the edge of the village.
“What the hell?”
Just then, a man jumped down from the roof of the house next to ours as if he had been skipping down the road. He turned to my father and I and smiled wide.
My heart stopped.
Were those … fangs?
My father pushed me back and placed the dagger in my hands. “Protect them. Protect your family.”
Then he closed the door, sealing me in.
Sealing himself out.
Panic filled my chest and I could barely breathe.
What the hell was happening?
I reached for the door, intent on going out and helping out my father, when I felt a tug on my leg.
“Daike,” my two year old sister said. She rubbed her eye with her other hand, then looked up at me. “Where’s daddy?”
My siblings. My mother.
My family.
I picked her up in my arms. “Nothing. Nothing is happening.” I rushed across the room and into my parents’ bedroom. Thankfully, my mother was sitting up.
She looked up at me, her eyes wide. “What’s going on?”
“I-I don’
t know,” I told her. Because I really didn’t know. What I had seen couldn’t have been real. “But I think we should all stay together.”
Before she had time to answer, I grabbed her arm and pulled her into my bedroom. By then, the boys were already awake. They were sitting close together, against the wall, as if that simple gesture could save them from anything.
I wish.
My mother sat down beside the boys and I pushed my little sister into her lap.
A loud boom shook our house and more screams followed.
“W-what’s happening?” my brother asked, his voice trembling.
I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know.
All I could do was stare between the door and the window, the dagger safe in my hands, while my heart hammered against my chest.
A faint sound of thump thump came from the next room. Two seconds later, the door flew off its hinges, breaking into a million wooden chips against the wall.
A man, the same man I had seen outside, marched into the room … carrying the bloody body of my father behind him. As if he weighed nothing more than a sack full of feathers, the man threw my father’s body at my feet.
My mother and my siblings screamed.
My stomach dropped and my blood went cold.
Smiling wide and showing off his two pointed teeth, the man walked up to me. “He fought bravely,” he said, his voice rough. “But no human is a match for us.”
Rage coursed through my veins and I lifted the dagger to his chest.
The man laughed out loud and slapped my shoulder.
I flew to the side of the room and hit the wall with too much force. Pain exploded on my shoulder and hips, and I crumbled to the ground.
What was this man?
There was only one thing I could think of, but that was impossible.
Because vampires didn’t exist.
My vision blurred, but I was able to see when more men suddenly appeared in the middle of the room and advanced on my family. Arms and legs trembling, I pushed up.
“Stop,” I croaked, fighting the dizziness and the pain.
My mother tried to fend the men off my siblings, but one of them simply fisted her hair, turned her head, and bit her neck.
He bit her neck.
Her body went slack a second later.
“Stop!” I tried yelling, but my voice was barely above a whisper.
There was only rage in my mind when I picked up the dagger from the floor and advanced on the man attacking my little sister. They probably didn’t expect me to fight back, because it was too easy to jump at his back and shove the dagger on his back, right where his heart was.
The man dropped my sister and turned to me. He didn’t even flinch when he took the dagger off his back and threw it at the floor.
“You’re dead,” he rasped through gritted teeth.
He lunged at me.
I dodged his attack and spun around, picking up the dagger from the floor again, and plunged the dagger on his stomach.
The man’s eyes went wide.
I was surprised with myself too.
But I didn’t show it. I let anger drive me as I pulled the dagger out and stabbed him again.
“Silly boy,” he said, laughing.
I had stabbed him three times and he was laughing.
His laughter died and he closed his hand around my neck. “You’re dead,” he repeated.
He squeezed, lifting me off from the ground.
Letting go of the dagger, I gasped for air and my vision blurred some more.
No, no, no. I couldn’t go this way. We couldn’t go this way. I had to save them. I could save them.
Remembering the fighting lessons a retired soldier had taught us a few months ago while he had been visiting family at our village, I just reacted. I grabbed his wrists and use it as leverage to raise my legs, then I kicked him hard on the chest.
The man stumbled back just one inch, but he had been surprised enough to loosen her grip on me.
Anticipating the fall, I bent my legs and fell crouched down.
Right beside the dagger.
I didn’t think. I just grabbed the dagger and went for him again.
This time I stabbed him in the heart.
And again he just swatted my off like a fly. I bumped my back on the wall, pain ran down my body, and my vision darkened some more. Even so, I watched in shock as the man pulled out the dagger and just bared his fangs at me.
“It isn’t that easy to kill us, boy,” he snarled. He pointed the dagger at me. “But it is easy to kill you puny humans. I’m going to rip your heart out and enjoy your blood.”
My stomach revolved in disgust.
So … these men were really vampires.
The man flew at me and—
“That’s enough!” a new voice boomed through the room.
The man stood his ground. He turned around and lowered his head to the man standing at the door. “Lord Reynard,” he said as if he was addressing a king.
Lord Reynard looked every bit like a vampire with elegant features, long blond hair and deep eyes, but he was dressed in a black suit and a dark red shirt, with a heavy silver cross hanging from his neck—and none of it was dirty or stained with blood, like the rest of the men.
“Don’t kill him,” Lord Reynard said, his voice as deep as his gaze.
“But … he was mocking me, sir,” the vampire said. “I would like to finish him.”
“From what I’ve seen, you have tried to finish him and failed,” Lord Reynard said. “Meanwhile, this boy stabbed you four times.”
The man lowered his head some more. “Please, my Lord, let me kill him.”
“No,” Lord Reynard said. My knees wobbled. “He’ll come with us.”
“W-what?” the man asked.
I blinked the dark spots from my vision. What the hell was this man saying? Take me where?
“Prince Dorian!” Lord Reynard said, a little louder.
In a flash, a second vampire appeared beside the blond lord. “Yes, my Lord.”
“Take this boy to the DuMoir Castle.” Lord Reynard gestured to me. “But be careful. He can put up a fight.”
Prince Dorian bowed his head. “Yes, my lord.”
Then Lord Reynard was gone and Prince Dorian had both his hands on my shoulders. “Come on, boy,” he said. Instinct hit and I jerked against him. “Don’t fight me and I won’t have to hurt you.”
I couldn’t help it. I fought against him.
Prince Dorian said “I’m sorry” before punching my face hard.
My vision blackened. I tried resisting it, but it was too much.
The last thing I saw as I was being carried out was the lifeless bodies of my family—my father, my mother, my two brothers, and my little sister—abandoned in the middle of my room … and fire engulfing the house.
Hurting and heartbroken, I welcomed the darkness trying to carry me away.
Continue reading about Drake in The Vampire Heir: http://julianahaygert.com/books/
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Reaper by T. Ariyanna
Chapter One
The man pulled out his knife, twirling it in his hand as he backed his prey against a building near the edge of the small town. The wooden planks of the abandoned house creaked in protest. The moonlight glinted in his eyes, showing vicious intent.
Everything had been overgrown with weeds, and thorned plants grabbed at the man’s slacks. The ruined buildings gave little relief from the harsh wind, and it carried a foul odor from the poisoned fields that had driven the town’s inhabitants away from this area. Nearly ten years had passed since then, but there was always someone that would wander through the man’s hunting grounds.
“Please, I don't have much! I'll give you whatever you want, just please, put that away. We can work something out,” the other man pleaded, holding his hands up. He was unarmed, though he was a large man packed with muscle. Despite his size, he trembled un
der the gaze of his hunter, and the man cackled with elation.
Brown hair, dark eyes. Mid-thirties, but looks young. Timid. Black slacks and a thin dress shirt. Name, Thomas Aberthy. Cause of death, murder. Time of death, near midnight. Placement of body, undetermined as of yet.
This information flitted through the man's head, though he couldn't understand why. It affected him none, and he progressed on his victim. He held his knife up to the light, cascading down from the moon.
“Shut up!” he yelled, both to the thoughts flooding his mind, and to the man, who had begun to sob. “I don’t want you to give me nothing, I want to take it. I want your pitiful life.”
With that, the man charged forward and plunged the knife into his prey's chest.
Oliver woke with a start, grasping his chest. His heart thudded against his hand. He feared it would jump out of his chest at any second. He gulped down air as though he would never breathe again. Sweat covered his face, plastering his messy black hair to his brow.
“Another job,” he grumbled. His eyes darted around his room, and they found the portrait of his family. It had been done five years ago, when Oliver was fifteen. So much had happened in so little time, and it scared him to think of what would change next.
Raven, his younger sister, stood in front of him, smiling her best for the portrait. She had tied her hair up into a messy bun that day, and it stuck in his face during the modeling for the painting. She wore a light pink dress with long sleeves, and a thin choker around her neck. Pale blue eyes were set in her round face. She had only been eight in this portrait.
His mother, Cordinia, stood behind them. Her own smile was as vibrant as her crystal blue eyes. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and he could almost feel the ghost of her embrace. Her face was soft and loving, just as Oliver remembered it.
Oliver’s father stood beside them. Nicholas Gimor. His hands were tucked behind his back. He carried a sullen expression, dark shadows under his eyes. He was tall with broad shoulders, but Oliver had inherited his mother’s slight frame. He was losing his hair at a young age, and what was left was gray. His dark eyes were haunted from his job at the cemetery, preparing the dead for passing.
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