The Unearthly (The Unearthly Series)

by Laura Thalassa

  “Ew.”

  He ignored my comment. “If rule one—never turn a person into a vampire—is broken, then it is punished by death. Unless the vampire has sired other vampires; in that case they’re permanently incapacitated, since killing them would inadvertently end the lives of those they’ve sired.

  “Rule two—never drink to kill—is not punishable by death unless it becomes habitual. Instead, punishment includes imprisonment and meals of animal blood.” I made a face. I was going to have to get used to this drinking blood thing. “This rule can be difficult to follow because it is easy to accidently drink too much and thus kill a human.”

  “Have you ever killed anyone?” The second I asked it, I realized what a faux pas the question must be. Like asking an older woman her age.

  His mouth thinned. “Yes.”

  Rationally I knew this, but thinking about it still made me squirm.

  He watched me, in silence. I searched for something to say. I remembered my father’s letter.

  “My father left me a note in a safety deposit box,” I said, sidestepping the current discussion. Despite Mr. Taylor’s and my father’s advice not to trust anyone, I thought Andre should know his life might be in danger. “He believed there was and still is a conspiracy to … remove you—and possibly me—as part of a political coup. He wrote that we were both in danger.”

  Andre was quiet for a long moment, thinking over what I just said. “Santiago left this for you?”

  I nodded.

  Andre said, “At the end of his life, Santiago came to me and confessed that he had reason to believe there was a conspiracy to kill me. I did not think much of it at the time since the evidence was circumstantial, but after he died I became very careful. But months and then years passed and nothing happened.

  “I will consider your father’s words, but we both must remember they were written over ten years ago, and nothing has happened to me since.”

  Andre’s words made me sad. I’ll admit I agreed with him—the letter made no sense—but Santiago was my father, and I wanted him to be right.

  “Why do you think Santiago thought I’d be in danger?”

  He stared at his folded hands for a long time before looking back up at me. “Probably because you are related to him. And probably because he knew that after your powers were Awoken, you’d find me, making you a very visible target.” He gave a small smile and looked at the clock. “I should probably get you home.”

  ***

  It was past 1:00 a.m. when we rolled up to my dorm building. I waved goodbye to Andre, watching his car—this time a sensible Audi—drive away.

  I rubbed my eyes. God, I was so tired.

  The wind carried a whiff of something—sweat? I heard a rapidly accelerating heartbeat and knew I had a split second to move.

  I jumped out of the way as a man, intending to ambush me, flew past me. He rolled and was on his feet again.

  I faced him off, frightened. Someone else was trying to kill me. This couldn’t be coincidental.

  My attacker shifted his weight from foot to foot, debating his next move. He was huge, but he smelled human. Then again, he could be another shapeshifter.

  Belatedly I realized I was right in front of my dorm, where many people were peacefully sleeping. I let out a blood-curdling scream, hoping to wake someone up.

  My attacker charged me, but he was clumsy. I sidestepped him and kicked his feet out from under him.

  If I were paying better attention, I would’ve noticed the second heartbeat closing in on me. But I was so absorbed by my first attacker that I didn’t until I saw the swing of an object in my peripherals a fraction of a second before it connected. There was a flash of excruciating pain, and then nothing.

  Chapter 17

  I WOKE UP in the back of a van, my head pounding. I tried to sit up, but my arms were restrained with duct tape, as were my legs.

  Oh God. Where were we going? And what were they going to do to me?

  The radio was on and an announcer was discussing a soccer game, each dip and rise of his voice making my already pounding head burst with new waves of pain. A foreign smell wafted over me, making me focus on the driver. He smelled like smoke and decay. Whatever he was, he wasn’t human.

  A metal grate separated me from the two men, so I couldn’t get to them.

  It was pretty clear they thought I was sufficiently incapacitated, leaving me back here to my own devices.

  It was also clear that they weren’t taking me to go get ice cream. If I wanted to live, I’d needed to act now while I still had the element of surprise. I knew that with a little effort I could break through the duct tape, and then it was a simple matter of jumping out of a moving car. I swallowed at the thought. The real trick was going to be staying quiet.

  I tried pulling my wrists apart, but the duct tape wouldn’t give. I tried again. Again, nothing happened. Luckily the idiots had bound my hands in front of me, so I brought my wrists to my lips and began to bite the tape. I tugged at it with my teeth, trying to rip an edge. Nothing. I bit down hard on the duct tape, now angry and panicked. I felt my canines elongate in response. About time.

  I used my sharpened teeth to tear the tape. In order to remain quiet, I pulled the tape off agonizingly slowly, a layer of skin and hair peeling away with it. My eyes pricked with tears from the sharp pain and my pounding headache intensified.

  I glanced at my captors. They were now cursing at some call the ref had made and the announcer was discussing.

  I undid the tape that bound my feet slowly, glancing up again and again to make sure my captors weren’t aware of my progress.

  They must not realize how fast I heal. That, or they thought the blow to my head had mortally wounded me. Otherwise they’d keep a better eye on me.

  Once I was free, I quietly slid to the back doors and tried the handle. Locked. I kept an eye out for my kidnappers, but they were still preoccupied with the game.

  I took a deep breath for courage, and lay down along the floor. I pulled my foot back and aimed at the van’s back doors. Putting all my strength into it, I kicked the door. The plastic crunched and metal creaked.

  “What in the bloody hell?” One of the men up front turned in time to see me plant a second kick to the back doors.

  “Stewie!” he yelled. “She’s tryin’ to escape! Grab yer fuckin’ gun and shoot her!”

  My third kick swung the door open. Third time’s the charm.

  I got onto my feet and prepared to jump. This was going to hurt. Behind me Stewie or the other goon cocked his gun.

  I sent up a silent prayer to whoever was listening that I might survive this. I held my breath as my body left the van.

  A shot exploded through the night air. The bullet hit my side before I touched the ground. I crumpled in midair and collided hard with the packed dirt of the road.

  My body slammed into the ground, and I blacked out on impact. The pain consumed me.

  When I came to several seconds later, all I felt was pain. I lay there, unmoving, wishing I had stayed unconscious; the alternative hurt too much. The smell of blood made my nostrils flare, and through all the pain, I felt my elongated canines throb.

  A short distance from where I lay, the van slammed on the breaks and pulled to the shoulder of the road. I watched both men get out, one with a gun and the other with a baton. I could tell they didn’t see me right away. Neither had night vision. To them I was some dark shadow amongst other shadows.

  I needed to get up, but everything hurt too much. Using my arms, I pulled my broken body to the side of the road. I bit back a whimper; the pain was unbearable.

  “Hey Stewie, over there.” The driver of the van pointed to me. I froze and let my body slacken. Perhaps they’d believe I was dead.

  I heard gravel crunch as Stewie came over, gun focused on me. Through squinted eyes I watched as he stood over me, gun focused on my head.

  “Tommy I think the bitch is dead.” He kicked my side, and it was all I could d
o not to scream out. “Yeah, she ain’t lookin’ too pretty now.”

  His partner Tommy called out from somewhere in the distance. “Just put a bullet in her brain for good measure, and then let’s get the body outta here.”

  “Did ya here dat princess?”

  I had. And I’d be damned if I lived this long only to die at the hands of these scum.

  Stewie cocked his gun, and I acted fast. I lashed out with my foot and kicked his feet out from under him. The gun went off, but the bullet missed me.

  “What the—”

  I crawled over to Stewie who was now on his back, and reached for the gun. Just as my hand closed over Stewie’s, his shock wore off, and he began to fight back. I wrestled him for the weapon.

  “Tommy, get over here! She’s alive, and she’s trying to get me gun!”

  I heard Tommy’s footfalls as he ran over. Panicked, I squeezed Stewie’s hand as hard as I could, pulverizing bone.

  He let out a blood-curdling shriek and reflexively let go to cradle his broken hand. I grabbed the gun and didn’t pause to aim.

  I pulled the trigger. The sound pierced the night, and Stewie went still.

  Oh God, I killed someone. The hollow silence that followed the gunshot was so much worse than the noise.

  Tommy stopped halfway over to me. “Stewie, is that you?”

  “No.” I aimed and fired. The bullet clipped Tommy in the shoulder. He cried out, staggering briefly. Then he sprinted to the car, clutching his arm, and I watched him drive away.

  Sensing I was no longer in immediate danger, I slumped over and let myself slip into unconsciousness.

  ***

  At some point the blackness gave way to flashing lights and urgent voices. I looked around briefly before the vision faded away. I resurfaced again, just long enough to see faces leaning over me, and someone manually pumping oxygen into my mouth. I smelled so much blood. Then it too faded away.

  The next time I woke up, I was in a hospital room. I listened to the monitors beep and whirl. My wrists were connected to all sorts of tubes. I moved to tug them off but immediately regretted it. Pain lacerated my body. I let out a small whimper as one of the monitors began beeping shrilly.

  Immediately a few nurses came in to check on me, and a few minutes later my doctor followed. He smiled gently at me and pulled up a chair next to my bed.

  “You’re in here too often,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like road kill.”

  He chuckled and flipped through my chart. “You suffered some serious injuries. Two broken ribs, three more that are cracked, a gunshot wound, a compound fracture—your tibia—and a concussion.” He paused to let me take it all in.

  I could feel every one of those injuries. The damage must’ve been even worse when it happened, considering my quick healing abilities.

  “I’m going to let you rest a little longer, and we can discuss taking care of your injuries in the coming weeks and schedule a follow up.” He got up and placed my chart in a slot on the door. “Get some rest,” he advised in parting and closed the door behind him.

  I took his advice and slept until I was roused by shouting outside my room. Between the yelling and the current of energy that had my heart rate hiking, I could hazard a guess at just who was outside my room.

  The door burst open and Andre came storming through. He ran his eyes over my body, assessing me for damages. A nurse hurried in behind him. “Really sir, you need to leave.”

  He ignored her, and she cast a worried glance my way.

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  The nurse nodded, not looking convinced. “You get five minutes,” she said to Andre, who wasn’t listening, “and then you’ll have to return to the waiting room.” With that she turned and left.

  Andre knelt close to the bed. “Who did this to you?” he demanded.

  I managed to shrug without hurting anything too badly. “It doesn’t matter. I … I killed him—well, one of them at least.” I closed my eyes and struggled to swallow down my bile. Even my throat hurt. The darkness behind my eyelids kept replaying the scene.

  I opened my eyes. The anger on Andre’s face had drained away to concern. He looked me over, and I felt I might drown in the unexpected emotion I saw in his eyes.

  “I heard.”

  The last thing I needed was for him to care, because if he cared, then the entire wall I had built between us might come crashing down.

  I looked away from him and stared at nothing. “It was awful.”

  “I know. It always is,” Andre said quietly.

  “If I die, am I going to go to hell?” I didn’t want to voice this question, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  Andre shook his head and smiled sadly. “I don’t know—no one knows. But you’re a good person, and you made the best decision you could—no one here would condemn you for what you did. And I’d hate to think God has less reason than humankind.”

  He took my hand and squeezed it. Even with the attack still fresh in my mind, my heart quickened at his touch. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Andre’s lips twitch. He could hear my racing pulse.

  What he couldn’t hear were my racing thoughts. How beautiful he looked when he stared at me, and how he might be the first person I ever truly wanted to let into my world.

  “I’m going to get you out of here,” he said. “You’re coming home with me.”

  ***

  Thirty minutes later we were driving over to his place.

  I glanced down at my jeans and shirt, both stretched tight over my various Velcro casts—which I’d be able to permanently remove in another hour or so. I was touched that Andre had actually gone to the trouble of picking up some clean clothes for me. If he hadn’t, I would either be wearing a paper gown, or my bloodstained clothes from earlier this evening. I shuddered, remembering the events once again, and a wave of guilt and disgust washed over me. I had killed a man.

  The car was silent for a long time while I pulled myself together. I took a deep breath. “I was ambushed,” I said.

  Andre looked over at me, brows furrowed.

  I continued. “Right after you dropped me off, they were waiting for me.”

  Andre slammed on the brakes. I yelped as my seatbelt dug into my broken ribs.

  “Are you okay?” Andre’s voice sounded panicked. “I forgot you were hurt.”

  “I’m fine,” I wheezed, trying not to pass out from the shockwaves of pain that ripped through my body. The guy really needed to stop doing that.

  “You are not okay.” He got out of the now idling car and came over to my side. After unbuckling my seatbelt, he lifted up my shirt to look at any additional damage he may have done to my ribs.

  “Andre!” I said indignantly, pushing my shirt back down. “I said I was fine.”

  “I was merely checking,” he said. “I can be professional you know.”

  “Yeah right,” I muttered.

  He took my hands in his, ignoring my comment. “Now, you said you were ambushed right after I dropped you off?”

  I nodded, trying to ignore how good Andre’s touch felt.

  He looked deep into my eyes. “From now on Gabrielle I am going to personally make sure this never happens again. Because maybe Santiago was right after all.”

  I was suddenly scared about the life I was living. Never before did I have to worry about things like assassins and political coups.

  “Okay.”

  He stared at my lips like he wanted to kiss them, but he settled on kissing my hands. My heart fluttered before I could tell it to shut up.

  Andre got back into his seat and revved the car up. He pulled the car out gently onto the road, careful not to hurt my broken ribs again.

  “If Santiago was telling the truth, and someone is interested in getting rid of both you and me, then this tells us two things. The first is that you are the catalyst. Somehow your life has set these events into motion. It happened when you were a little girl, and it appears to be happening ag
ain now that the supernatural community knows you survived that fire.

  “The second is that the madman may be interested in eradicating the entire vampire population of Europe.”

  Chapter 18

  I STARED AT Andre for a few beats, letting the information soak in. “What do you mean by that?”

  Andre gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I mean that I was the first vampire created … I’m sure you’ve read about me in that textbook. All vampires are my descendants, meaning that I have directly or indirectly sired each and every one of them. My life may be the only thing keeping the entire population of vampires alive. And, although its never been tested, a popular theory is that if someone kills me, every vampire descended from me will die.”

  I didn’t breath for a moment. “How many vampires have descended from you?”

  “Hundreds. Essentially every vampire but you.”

  My brain was working, and a sick idea was beginning to form in my head. “You and me—the first vampire created and the first vampire born. They want to kill us because killing us would completely eradicate vampires.”

  A muscle in Andre’s jaw jumped. “Yes.”

  ***

  When we pulled up to Bishopcourt, Andre attempted to carry me inside. I gave him an annoyed look and pushed his hands away. “Go away, I can take care of myself perfectly well.”

  “Fine.” Andre crossed his arms and leaned against the car.

  Of course, I had to eat my words as I tried to get my butt out of the world’s lowest car. Stupid bucket seats.

  “Still don’t want any help?” He sounded so damn smug.

  “No,” I said, sulking. Slowly I pulled my broken body out of the car.

  I saw Andre shake his head. I ignored him and began walking haltingly towards the palace. I stopped and leaned against the weathered stone. Everything hurt. Badly. Whatever healing powers I had weren’t helping me very much.