Birth of a Vixen (Shadow Faith Book 1)

by Colleen Tews

  “Better safe than sorry.” I was still not sure I needed all the weapons.

  “Right.”

  Wonderful. This was exactly what every little girl dreamt of having when they grew up, a gym in their basement, a pint of their boyfriend’s blood, and a room full of big toys that made really big holes in people.

  Chapter 21

  Soon after Lucian left I put the jar of blood in a cooler. Then ran out, parked the car in the garage, and placed the cooler in the trunk. This way I had it with me if I needed it. I figured with how cold it was the blood wouldn’t go stale. From there I ran back inside to check on Albert.

  I took the stairs two at time. I felt rushed only because of how long I left him unattended. By the time I opened the bathroom door I felt silly for rushing.

  The bathroom was a sauna. A potpourri scented fog blurred the room. The mirror was fogged over. Albert relaxed in the warm bath with a moist washcloth over his eyes. “Don’t you look all comfy cozy?”

  He jumped. The washcloth fell into the water as he bolted upright.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to see how you are doing. Are you all warmed up?” I sat on the toilet lid. I restrained my curiosity from getting the better of me, and did not sneak a peek at his manhood. Not that I wanted to. It was just a natural thing to wonder about.

  “I am feeling much better.” He settled back down into the water and moved the cloth over his more private parts. His cheeks had a touch of color to them, a little rosy, but he still looked pale for a human, or a ghoul.

  “Great. So now how do you want to do this?”

  “What, ma’am?”

  I let the ma’am thing slide. “How do you prefer to feed? Would you like to stay in the tub or did you want to get dressed and meet me in the dining room and do this all prim and proper at the table?”

  “Whichever way pleases my mistress.”

  “Your what? Let’s get some things straight. I may let you call me ma’am from time to time but I am not your mistress or your master. Save that crap for the older more crotchety vampires, okay.”

  He nodded and I appreciated the fact that he didn’t apologize. “Alright. I’m going to feed you now. We’ll save the big banquet idea for next time.

  “Thank you.” His voice was weak and strained. I doubted he would have been able to get dressed and drink downstairs, at least not on his own.

  I removed my high-heeled boots, then hiked up the hem of my dress and sat on the tub’s edge. I plunged my feet into the water, surprised it was hotter than it seemed.

  Watching this poor defenseless ghoul soak, I pitied him. His thick wet hair clung to his scalp. I stroked the top of his head and noticed more gray strands than when we first met. His brow furrowed while he relaxed and crow’s feet spread farther out from around his eyes. The aging process had already begun. In the future I promised to be more diligent in my care of him.

  “Albert, how old are you?” It was hard to keep track of, since they aged so slowly. After a couple hundred years it was possible for a ghoul to die of old age. As long as a vampire gave them a continuous blood supply they appeared and acted as young and spry as the first day they drank vampire blood.

  He closed his eyes as he gave into the relaxing comfort of my touch. “I am a little over one hundred. I lost track ten or twenty years ago.”

  “You don’t look a day over fifty.”

  He face softened, lightening with a sweet smile. “Thank you.”

  “What was your life like?”

  A small twinge of tension pulled tendons in his neck and shoulders. I didn’t like to talk about my past much either but since he already knew an extreme amount of detail about me I wanted to know him equally as well. Then again, “Sorry, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”

  He sighed through his nose. “It isn’t that I don’t want to. It is hard for me to recall. I had a wife and children, but for the life of me I can’t remember their faces or names. There are days when I get glimpses of them, random memories resurfacing. Like on a spring day, when the wind catches the slightest scent of jasmine I can smell my wife’s hair. It is such a vivid memory that I can close my eyes and see her standing before me. I can almost touch her.”

  A small tear broke free of his closed eyes. He spoke with such longing for his love I could taste his pain and it felt good across my tongue. I closed my eyes and focused on using his despair to help him. Perhaps my blood would not only rejuvenate his body but the memories of his family as well.

  While I stroked his hair I raised my free wrist to my mouth. My canines extended to a sharp penetrating point. With precision I bit open my flesh and radial artery. Blood spilled into my mouth and down my arm. I was new at this. I tried my best to make sure Albert got more than I spilled.

  I lowered my wrist close to his mouth. A drop landed on his bottom lip. He licked it off and let out a quiet exasperated moan.

  His hands abandoned the washcloth and as it floated away he took hold of my arm and brought me into his eager mouth. He drank me in. His eagerness drew me into the water. As I maneuvered behind him I braced his head. My legs were pinned between Albert’s naked torso and the tub. He rested back against my chest.

  All the sadness and pity cooled to a calm content as I gave him a renewed sense on life. Feeding Albert brought a deeper sense of comfort than when I cuddled with Lucian. Maternal instincts, that I would never be able to use with my own baby, poured from me to him. He was much older than myself, but through this type of arrangement he was my child.

  Albert released my arm. Where his mouth had been clasped was now a small bruise. In a matter of minutes it would be gone. His head flopped back against my shoulder with a damn-I’m-full smile, like the one most people wore on Thanksgiving. Blood smeared around his lips and chin. He was full, content and warm again.

  Chapter 22

  To uncover the puppeteer behind El Diablo Cebo’s demise I needed to start with the puppet, Brutus. He was the key starting point. Hell, he was my only lead. I figured his Master's strings were firmly rammed up his ass. After the Maartens did their security sweep I followed a herd of them to The Hooch. Brutus hadn’t been with them. I assumed he was here waiting for a report.

  Every time I thought about him my mind raced back to that night on the highway. I tasted Jazz’s fresh blood on his hands, smelled the wafts of gunpowder after Kaelanna’s body collapsed to the pavement, and the burnt woodchips when his shot whizzed by me to hit a tree. Part of me felt trapped on that hill.

  I wiped away the haunting scents from my nose. Sat up straighter on the pleather barstool and cracked my neck. None of my wishy-washy emotions mattered. Time to man-up.

  I leaned back with my elbows on the sticky bar. The heavy metal music vibrated across it. Cigarette smoke floated into the rafters dulling strobe lights that bounced off one baldhead to another. How many bald badasses lived in the Kent area? Answer: too many. Searching a crowd of a hundred hard-core metal heads ready to thrash each other at a seconds notice made pinpointing Brutus damn near impossible.

  I spun around halfway. The baggy jeans Albert suggested I wore caught on the stool. I stepped onto the bar's footstool to adjust the jeans and tugged the tight black t-shirt that read 'Disturbed' in red crazy letters back down. Not wanting to draw attention, I eyed the crowd’s obscured reflection using the mirror behind shelves of liquor bottles.

  One of the punks I followed with greasy spiky light brown hair and a crusty band shirt called out wordlessly from the mosh pit. Through the mirror I watched him bulldoze his way to the pool tables.

  Brutus sat half-cocked on the green felt, surveying his “kingdom”. The blonde female Maarten cuddled close and stroked his bare arm. A tight, brown leather vest clung to his chest -which oddly enough had hair. His dark blue jeans made him look more like an old school rocker than a hardcore thrasher.

  I got up from the bar and waded the outskirts of the pit. I shoved through the sweaty crowd closer to them, but not
enough to be noticed. The sweat masked my scent. To guarantee I blended in I jumped, head-banged and bounced off people. It was kind of exhilarating.

  I spun in the air in time to catch the runt hand Brutus a slip of paper. As he read it his smirk slipped into a scowl. He glared at the messenger, who shrank by comparison.

  I concentrated on heightening my hearing and caught what they said over the music. Brutus propelled himself off the table. “Did he say when he wanted this done?”

  “He said we have ‘til New Years.”

  “Mother fucker.”

  “What do ya want me to tell ‘im?”

  “You tell him…God.” Brutus rubbed his jaw line.

  “Brutus, baby, don’t worry.” His girlfriend got between Brutus and the smaller guy.

  “Don’t worry? How can I not fuckin’ worry when it’s been, what, three months now? This bastard ain't the patient type. If I don’t deliver that bitch’s head then…” He ripped the piece of paper and stuffed it in a glass. He poked his Housemate in the chest. “You tell him I’ll get it done like promised. We’ll get-”

  A giant’s elbow smashed against my ear. The ringing exploded in my head. My lips mouthed a curse, or maybe I yelled it, I haven’t a clue. I clutched the side of my head with one hand and punched the walking mountain in the nose.

  His hands flew to the middle of his face. Blood streamed over his mouth. As the ringing subsided I heard him yelling a string of profanities at me.

  “Next time watch what you’re doin’.” I hollered back.

  “Ya broke my nose.”

  I removed his hands and examined his bleeding nose. “You look better now. Tougher.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Sure. Why not.” The warmth of his blood tightened my stomach and lower, but I breathed through it. I fought the urge to lick my fingers.

  By the time I returned my attention back to Brutus the pool table was empty. I had half a mind to drink that drunk, clumsy fucktard dry for interrupting, but it wasn’t his fault his mother figured out a way to procreate with Sasquatch. Shit.

  I scanned the room and discovered how much I hated this bar. Every time I focused on a dark corner, a black spot in the room, a strobe light caught my eye. The light blinded me. At least I had a better appreciation of that song.

  Brushing aside the giant, I headed toward the stairs. Once outside the pit I saw better. Brutus and his minions were gone, but there was one thing that caught my eye. On the pool table’s rim rested two shot glasses. They each smelled of whisky and blood. One had a faint lipstick stain -the blonde’s glass. The other had a faint motor oil hint to it and half-soaked piece of paper, Brutus’.

  I carefully unwrapped the crumbled and torn note. Most of the words were smeared. I couldn’t tell where one sentence ended and another began, but made out ‘retrieve the,’ the letters K and L, and Thais. It wasn’t signed. Adding two and two together meant those two letters spelled kill coupled with Thais, kill Thais. They were hunting me while I hunted them. On the plus side, they were under the assumption I looked like my old psycho-sire. What needed retrieved, though? I folded the note, put it in my pocket, and rushed past the crowd

  I flung the front door open in time to watch the Maartens cruise by on their Harleys. Sidestepping the bouncer I ran to the Mustang. Within seconds I tore out of the parking lot and sped down route fifty-nine.

  The gang wasn’t hard to follow. The engines roared over the hills. I backed off the gas pedal and reminded myself to stay inconspicuous.

  They breezed through the yellow light by the Theater. Caught by the red, I watched as they cruised down the hill and turned left. I mimicked their turn at the light. After rolling down the window I maintained pursuit by listening for the engines. Gaps between buildings gave brief glimpses of them.

  The engines quieted. I turned right down an alley, stopped where it dead-ended at the street they were on, and turned the car off. Much to my amazement the Maartens parked at the last place on earth I suspected. “What the hell are they doing at Raphe’s house?”

  Quicker than the human eye could follow, and I hoped fast enough not to draw the Maartens' attention, I exited the Mustang. Dense evergreen shrubs bordered Raphe's neighbor's yard. A small opening near the far-end was wide enough for me to slither through on my belly. I snuck around the back of the house and crept to the shrubs that bordered Raphe's yard. I kept to the shadows and watched.

  Brutus pulled out a small, black case from the satchel attached to the motorcycle. He staggered by the lamppost, but there wasn't a luxury car to catch his fall like I had the first time I crossed onto Raphe's property. His girlfriend ran and caught him in mid-step. He glared up at her. "Back off. I gotta get used to this."

  "Fine." She threw her hands in the air. "Do it your own goddamn self."

  Stacey opened the door. Her arms crossed under her robed bosom. "Trouble?"

  "Like you care." Brutus stood taller, prouder.

  "You're right. I don't." She leaned against the doorframe. "I take it you have tonight's surveillance videos."

  He waved the black case in the air. Brutus closed the gap between them so fast Stacey jumped back inside. "Jumpy?"

  She stared up at him through her eyelashes. Stacey reached for the case, but missed when Brutus held it out of reach. "Hand it over. I doubt Raphe will appreciate the way you treated me since he left."

  "This is the first time I've heard you complain." All I saw was the back of his head as he leaned closer to her. "Have you thought about my offer?"

  She stiffened. "I have. The answer is no."

  "Oh, come on now, what's a little trade between friends."

  "We aren't friends."

  He shrugged. "What else would you call two people who enjoy to fuck like bunnies? I wonder what Raphe would say about that."

  Her eyes widened for a second. Even from my hiding space I smelled her fear. "That's blackmail."

  "I prefer to think of it as making the most of a situation."

  Stacey flipped back a stray strand of red hair from her face, lowered her eyes, and licked her lips. "I'll get the disc you want, but it'll have to wait until after he gets back. He stores the archives in a locked safe and keeps the key on him."

  "When?"

  "I'll call you." She tried to close the door, but Brutus caught it inches before it latched.

  "That's nowhere near good enough. You have three nights. Unless you want your beloved Master to know which client gave you those hickeys?" She blushed. He grabbed her chin. "That's what I thought."

  Brutus planted a rough kiss on her mouth. Stacey squirmed out of his grip. Her ruby lipstick, worn to perfection, smeared across her cheek. He dropped the case at her feet. And when he turned back to the motorcycle his lips had an extra bit of color on them, too. “Three nights. Midnight. The woods behind St. Paul’s.”

  I rolled onto my back. Staring up at the patchy sky I mentally kicked myself. At least now I knew what he needed to retrieve, surveillance discs. Why hadn't I thought about that before? Hindsight being what it was, because I didn't know what all happened when Thais was in charge that night or where. Either way, I had to get that night's discs before Brutus.

  Chapter 23

  It was Christmas Eve and I was walking up the wide curved front steps of the Caravelli compound, decorated for the holiday season. The vast estate was on acres of snow-covered land bordered with white tipped pine trees. The white three-story mansion had a lit candle in dozens of windows. Red and white shimmering curtains accentuated the seasonal affect. A large wreath hung on the green front door. At the base of the wreath was a little baby Jesus wrapped in swaddling robes.

  Raphe swept open the door, dressed to perfection. His long black hair flowed free to the middle of his back. Light wisps floated over his black silk button down shirt. A red flame decorated his left shoulder and across his chest like a vibrant vine. His tight black leather pants showed off his form leaving little room for my imagination. Although I didn’t have to imagine
anything I recalled every detail of what he had hidden under that smooth exterior.

  “Hey beautiful I was wondering when you’d get here. Did you have a hard time finding the place?” He said with a sparkle in his iridescent blue eyes. His full kissable lips smirked with sinister delight. I hadn’t even walked in the door and I could already tell he was thinking nefarious, if not pleasurable, thoughts.

  “No. How could I miss it? This place is huge.” I opened my arms to hug him. I was happy to see him again. I didn’t think I missed him, but I had.

  I stroked my fingertips down his chest, then stepped past him while I removed my coat. I chose something simple but elegant so as to not outshine our hosts. A white button down, buttoned halfway, with a stiff high open collar. It tucked into the high, tight waistband of a straight floor length black skirt that showed off my figure. My shoes were four-inch black heel boots. I pulled up half my hair in a bun and left the rest to trail down my back in waves. Add on delicate gold hoop earrings, a thin gold chain with a garnet dangling above my cleavage, a dash of makeup, and I was ready to party.

  A young woman dressed as a naughty Mrs. Claus waited behind Raphe. I handed her my jacket and thanked her. She nodded and took my coat down a hallway.

  “You look amazing.” Raphe complimented as he came in for a hug. He held me tight. We leaned back, without letting go, and kissed. It was a kiss that sparked heated passion. It had only been a couple nights since I last felt his touch, but that kiss made it feel like ages. If we weren’t at the Caravelli’s house we probably would have torn off our clothes, but we were, so, we pulled ourselves somewhat apart...somewhat.

  As if Raphe read my mind, “If we didn’t have to be here tonight I would say we go back to my place and finish what we started.”