The vampire screamed as a spray blood erupted from his mouth, the momentum of the kick knocking him to his ass. But the blow only stunned him for a second. His vampire speed had him up on his feet before Tristan could even sit up. Lucien flung a harsh curse at him, stopping long enough to wipe the spit and blood from his chin and then dove.
Tristan flung a foot up and took the vampire in the stomach. The impact of the hit jarred all the way down Tristan’s leg, felt as if he might have twisted his ankle. Lucien growled, reaching for him as if the blow never happened and Tristan jabbed the heel of his other naked foot into the vampire’s chest and wrapped his hands around Lucien’s neck. Using that skinny chicken neck as a pull, Tristan pushed with both feet and tossed Lucien up and over his head.
Mortar and brick cracked to tiny pebbles under Lucien’s weight. Tristan flipped over to his hands and knees facing his enemy, though his balance was bad, poised on his fingertips with that terrible leather sleeve binding his hands so close together. He needed to be on his feet. Hell, it was a miracle he did this well for this long in his condition.
Any second now, Ash.
Lucien scrambled to his hands and knees, and grinned, mocking him. “It’s just you and me.”
There was a sudden rumble then, the whole room shuddered. Tristan gasped as the bubble of pressure in his head exploded and his middle ignited with cold fire. Ash, she just—Chunks of brick the size of fruit rained down from the ceiling, mortar crumbled all around them like snow. Somewhere nearby a rat squealed in protest.
“Connasse,” Lucien snarled and then let out a war cry that made Tristan shiver. The vampire was on his feet and turning towards the door within seconds. The moment he reached the door, the earthquake cut off as abruptly as it has started and then a blur of black and white shot in.
Tristan sighed in relief—both for the release of pressure in his head and the knowledge that Ash was okay—as she slammed into Lucien. She lifted him off of the ground and took them across the room. They crashed into the back wall, cracking the brick around them. Lucien cried out and drove a fist into the side of her face as they tumbled together to the ground. Ash grunted and didn’t hesitate wrapping her body around the front of his, pinning arms, and driving her fangs into his neck.
Tristan jumped to his feet and started to move towards them but stopped after two steps. He needed a weapon, any weapon, and to get his arms free. Giving Ash one last quick look as she and Lucien tumbled around on the dirty floor, he decided he had a moment to spare since Lucien didn’t seem to be able to get free at the moment.
Hang in there, Ash.
He forced himself to move and darted out of the cell and across to Lucien’s torture room. His hip caught on the table by the door on the way in almost putting him off balance and dumping him on the floor. He stopped in the middle of the space, panting and hot, eyes darting over the assortment of tools and devices—hip throbbing. God, it felt good to be alive.
He recognized a few of the items, but most looked like they belonged in a horror movie. Tristan grabbed the one thing he knew how to wield with confidence: a knife a long as his forearm. He sat on the floor with the knife between his knees, blade up and started to hack away at the toggles on his binding. The whole time he could hear Ash and Lucien fighting, screaming, cursing and beating on each other.
Rubbing his sore forearms, he found his feet again and was moving towards his cell. Something drew his eye to Ash’s and he stopped for only a second to get a better look. It was Sebastian. The fae was crumpled in the back corner, forgotten. Tristan couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. Blood covered most of his shoulder where Ash ripped his shirt open, a pool of it gathering under him. Tristan’s daytime buddy, the rat, was creeping in to investigate the broken fae.
“Serves you right, asshole.”
Ash yelped and he forgot all about the fae, jumping into motion again. Lucien was on top of Ash, pinning her against the back wall with her fangs clamped down onto his neck. But Lucien he was trying to convince her that she didn’t want to kill him, thrusting against her in an almost frantic rhythm, desperate to change her mind. She moaned; it was half desire, half desperation to kill. The vampire in her wanted this. The part loyal to Tristan cried.
Tristan roared with anger and stomped up behind Lucien, raising the knife in his hands. Both hands on the hilt, he drove the knife straight down, intent on burying it into the back of Lucien’s neck. But despite his deep interest in Ash, Lucien knew what was happening and moved at the last moment, sacrificing a chunk of his flesh. The vampire was fast, but not fast enough and the thrust caught him down his side, slicing a clean line of flesh open to his hip. Tristan’s forward momentum was overkill and he lost his center of gravity.
Ash’s eyes widened and she gasped, catching him as he fell onto her with a grunt. “Are you okay?” she asked.
Tristan quickly righted himself, turning to face their enemy. “I’m good.”
Across the way, Lucien was glaring at the couple, burning with anger. “You two—you aren’t playing by the rules.” He almost sounded childish, there was a slight whine in the statement and it wouldn’t have surprised the others if the boy vampire stomped and shook his fists in anger.
Tristan and Ash exchanged a little look. What a pair the two of them must have looked to onlookers, both filthy and half naked, hair wild and eyes afire. And they were exactly the same, both thriving on the rush of the battle. Especially now that they knew they’d all but won.
They were in agreement when Ash answered with a devilish smirk, “Never really did care for rules.”
Tristan started to move for the vampire but Lucien put his hands up, palms out, as if motioning for him to stop. But the tightness in his head and the burn in his belly told him what was really about to happen. He cursed under his breath and shoved Ash behind him. The kid vampire’s expression lit up with a big, fucking disgusting smile.
Behind him, Ash screamed, “No!” the some moment the familiar pop shifted the air, tightened the pressure in Tristan’s head into a ball of concentrated, volatile energy. The air was instantly hot, suffocating.
This must be hell.
Maybe it was hell all along. What else could a life in a dungeon as a vampire’s captive be? And this, this…
In his hell, Tristan must have blinked. The world was a blur of colors. At first he saw only what he could describe as the sun. A great glowing sun of brilliant red, though it was small, the size of a cantaloupe. But its light was immense, filling the whole room, blinding him to the point he was sure he’d been blinded permanently. Then the ball of red burst into liquid and broke against a white phantom. Streaks of white and black. And somewhere in there he saw purple. Soft purple the color of lilac flowers. Oh, that delicate purple in that sea of red, how it was swallowed up and devoured by the lava.
Oh god, no. It can’t be...
The world seemed grayscale after all that color as Tristan’s eyes tried to focus again. He was kneeling over Ash. The too-big shirt she had been wearing was gone save for a small scrap still clinging to her right shoulder where it had melted to her skin. Where her flesh wasn’t charred black it was still on fire. And her screams, oh god the screams. He couldn’t believe he was watching someone else he cared for be burnt alive again.
“Stop, no!” he screamed to no one in particular as he beat at the flames. He felt his hands burning but the pain meant nothing to him. Out, I have to put them out!
He couldn’t see through the tears. The memory of watching his mother die the exact same way was all too fresh, too raw. He couldn’t breathe, his hands hurt. Everything hurt. Ash was—He cried out in frustration, followed by a sobby hiccup and then the flames suddenly went out, just like a switch being flipped.
Lucien needed Tristan alive and since he was having better control tonight, he was able to shut the flames off, just like that. The smug smile screamed cocky pride. Tristan didn’t even notice, had completely forgotten the kid vampire was even there. Nothing else mat
tered now but the limp woman in his arms.
“Ash?” he whispered in a shaky voice as he carefully pulled her into his lap. Flakes of skin came off under his throbbing hands. He was burned badly but didn’t even notice as he held her lifeless form. Her eyes were shut, mouth slightly open as if she gave one last sigh before she stopped breathing.
Oh god, what just hap—Ash, she… “You saved me,” he whimpered. “Why? Why did you do that?”
Tristan sucked in a shuddering breath, finally remembering to breathe and wished he hadn’t as the taste of burnt flesh filled him. Of burnt Ash. His stomach turned and he plunged fingers into her neck, searching desperately for a pulse. When he couldn’t find one, he pushed harder. She should have a pulse at least, right? He’d felt it before.
“No,” he rasped out. “No, you can’t...”
Lucien laughed. “Well,” he quipped, “that was unexpected. Never thought I’d see the day when Asta would die for a human.” He laughed again. “Well, she’ll be missed, but you’re still alive and that’s all that matters.” Lucien furrowed his brow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you listening, Uruwashi?”
Nope.
The man was a gnat in his ear, white noise. Tristan couldn’t look away from the woman in his arms. She was light, too light, and there wasn’t a drop of blood anywhere despite the deep fissures the fire ate into flesh. Did the fire burn her very blood? If it did, then she was…
“No,” he whimpered, as if saying it would make it true. She can’t be dead!
Oh god, he couldn’t breathe. He started to hyperventilate. That gnat was buzzing again, laughing. Laughing his dead, vampire ass off.
No, not dead… “Not yet,” Tristan said looking up with murder in his eyes. He remembered, he did dream about vampires earlier. About killing vampires—no, just one in particular. He knew what he needed to do.
Tristan found the knife lying next to Ash and lifted her right wrist, cradling it tenderly. Her skin was warm. Some of that heat was the fire, but the other was the warmth she took from the fae when she helped herself to his blood. The question was, was there enough left after the fire to do what he needed?
“Please,” he whispered, “forgive me.” He placed a light kiss on her wrist before cutting a thin line up her forearm into her ulnar artery. He could smell it before he saw it. There was some blood left, not much, but enough. He lifted her wrist without hesitation and pressed his open mouth over the slow bleeding wound.
“What are you doing?” Lucien asked on a gasp, taking a step back.
The first mouthful went down with surprising heat. Tristan gave a little moan, going lightheaded as he felt her blood fill him, coat the inside of his mouth like warm wine. He’d always thought he would be disgusted at having to actually drink blood—that was if he could ever convince Ash to bite him. But now… now he understood why the vampire drank blood. They needed it. And it had nothing to do with food or hunger and everything to do with the feeling. Completeness so whole he hadn’t realized he felt empty before he filled that space in him with vampire blood. Yes, blood was exactly what that empty place craved, wanted, begged for. The part of him, the inhuman part of him, burned and ached for the sweet, healing tonic that was vampire. A tonic that would cure his ails. A tonic that would give him the strength to kill the vampire now backing away from him in shock.
Pulse slow, steady and strong, eyes half lidded, Tristan sluggishly looked up as he licked the last drops of Ash’s life from his lips. The boy vampire swallowed hard, taking a step back, clear brown eyes held open a little too wide.
“What’s the matter, vampire?” Tristan asked in a low, dark voice. He felt that strangeness he had before when he assaulted Ash in the shower. But this time he was in control of that darkness. He wasn’t watching himself move and act without any thought or control. He knew who he was and who the vampire in his way was—the skinny man standing frightened before him.
He gently lowered Ash from his lap to the floor and stood, feeling her blood pulse through his limbs. “You look like you’re about to shit your pants. What, are you afraid of the big-bad-Uruwashi?” he said, drawing out the end of his sentence.
“I’m going to kill you,” he said in that gravelly voice. He sounded relaxed, reasonable even, as he taunted the frightened boy. “And then eat you.” He felt like a sociopath, talking like that so coolly, so calm as if he had no feelings. But he had a feeling all right, a hunger deep in his belly. That hunger wanted more blood—vampire blood. He smiled, feeling the wickedness of it without needing to see and wished he had the fangs to flash with it.
“Do you fear a beautiful death?”
The vampire’s scared expression broke as he forced a sneer, teeth bared. Tristan couldn’t remember moving, but he was suddenly on his feet with the knife in hand and moving towards the vampire. Lucien looked angry under his dark expression but Tristan could see the fear in it still. Tristan fell into Lucien, his knee pulled up to meet hip, the knife aimed for that skinny chicken neck. Seriously, how did a neck that small hold up a head that big?
Lucien grabbed both of Tristan’s wrists and pushed against him, trying to lift them over Tristan’s center of gravity. But when he didn’t give, Lucien’s eyes went wide and the fear blossomed.
Tristan was Superman. He felt as if he could punch a hole through a steel door. Or a vampire. The anger, the hunger, they all fueled Tristan’s resolve. He was burning with so much need he wasn’t sure which of the two reasons was the real reason right then to kill Lucien—avenge Ash or sate his hunger.
Oh, god, I’m really going to drain him when I’m done... so hungry.
Tristan growled through clenched teeth and tossed his head forward, cracking Lucien in the forehead. The vampire’s eyes went out of focus, his face slack for only a moment, but it was enough. Tristan yanked on his knife hand and it came free from the steel grip.
“You son of a bitch, vampire shit!” he yelled, spitting in the vampire’s face as he drove the knife into Lucien’s neck. The blade stopped when it hit collarbone. Lucien’s pale brown eyes were wide in horror, his mouth moving to form words without sound.
Tristan smiled, an unpleasant, dangerous smile. “You look like a floundered fish.” He licked his lips. “Hmm, I hope you taste better than fish or the piece of shit you are.”
Blood gurgled up in Lucien’s throat and out of his mouth. He coughed and a spray of hot droplets splattered across Tristan’s face.
“What?” Tristan asked leaning down. “What’s that?” He turned his head to the side, putting his ear up to bloody lips.
“You—” Lucien gasped as he fought to make the words louder than a whisper. “I know... who… are...”
Tristan jerked back. Who I am? What the... “What?” he snapped.
Lucien’s eyes rolled back as he groaned.
Tristan twisted the knife. “Answer me! Answer me and I’ll let you die, you piece of shit!”
Lucien stopped responding. The vampire wasn’t dead, Tristan could still feel a spark of its life in his blood, but he was close.
“Dammit!”
With an angry growl Tristan jerked the knife free only to plunge it back in until the tip came out the other side of Lucien’s neck. He pulled the blade towards him and opened the front of Lucien’s neck like a pez dispenser.
Tristan’s mouth watered. Mmm... my kind of pez.
“Asshole! You were supposed to put up a bigger fight!” Tristan flipped the blade in his grip and brought it down, cutting into the ruined mess of Lucien’s neck again. He leaned into the hilt until he heard the blade make a metal ting against the stone floor and Lucien’s head separated from his body. Spewing one last string of foul curses, Tristan jumped to his feet and kicked the head away in a fit of frustrated anger.
He glared down at the dead, headless vampire. His body felt on fire, strong and resilient. “Served you fucking right, damned vampire trash.”
Speaking of fire, Tristan still felt the cold burn of vampire in his middle. Luc
ien was still alive.
Not for long.
Tristan made a low noise in his throat as he went to his knees over the headless body. If he ate the vampire he could see his memories, right? That’s how it worked for them and if Tristan was part vampire, why wouldn’t it work for him too? He could find out what Lucien knew.
Hands to either side of the body, he leaned over and put his mouth to the open neck wound as if it was a perfectly natural thing to do. He moaned as the still warm blood filled his mouth. It tasted so good, like heaven. Almost immediately the images hit him.
“Come on, mon chéri. I promise I’ll make it worth your wild.” Lucien moved and Tristan moaned aloud as he felt himself inside the Asian woman under Lucien.
Xiuying mirrored the moan, tossing her head back. Her back arched and two tiny breasts were shoved into his face. He chuckled and flicked his tongue across a nipple. She tasted of the strawberry oil that he had covered her body with.
“Mon chéri,” he said again as he nuzzled her collarbone with his fangs. He was pouring on his French accent thick tonight.
Her fingers tangled into his hair, gripping hard enough to pull single strands free. This only drove him crazier. He opened wide and bit down onto her neck with an animalistic growl. Her back arched again, lifting them off the bed and he started to move, pounding into her as he pulled on her young blood.
“Ah! But Lucien, I no know. Ahh... but zhǔ had say—”
He jerked back, ripping his fangs from her flesh violently enough to leave two nasty tears. She was starting to piss him off. “She says that to everyone. She’s never hurt anyone though. Seriously, I’ve been here for fifty-three years and have never seen Yuki hurt anyone.”
Liar liar.
“But—”
“No,” he hissed in her face. “You have to do it. You have to kill Sibylle. Drain the fae, it’s what they are for… I promise you’ll like it.”
Bete Noire Page 32
