Cimmerian Shade: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance & Urban Fantasy Collection

by Kiki Howell

  What they failed to mention was that another beast lurked in the night, and it also hunted the weak. Speaking of weak, Zoë couldn't even taste the years on this one. Far too young a vampire. Zoë wouldn't have been surprised if she was turned within the year.

  She could've had another life—a better one. Yet here she was in an alley tasting death.

  Moving to the female’s throat, she felt her fangs descend further as well as her bottom canines. The slow fire that burned within her was desperate to be sated. With a breath, she sank her teeth into the female’s throat and she responded with a hiss.

  With her free hands, the young vampire caressed the back of Zoë's head tenderly as she reveled in the dark kiss.

  Zoë growled at the first real taste of vampire blood from a hunt in who knows how long. The thick elixir was chilled refreshment on a busy night, and as she drank, her eyes captured the biker, using her free hand to crook a finger, calling him over.

  Eagerly, he trudged forward to them until he pressed behind the little cupcake vampire with feverish desire. His fangs extended and he kissed one side of her neck as Zoë drank from the other.

  Finding it was now time to bid them goodnight, Zoë slipped around to behind the biker, making him the meat in this blood-sucking sandwich. Her hands roamed his muscled torso, up to his neck. She grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him back.

  The biker released the cupcake with a sensual hiss as Zoë whispered into his ear. "My turn."

  No longer holding back the facade, she sank her teeth into his throat as he growled through gritted teeth. Now, this one was more like it. He had a bit more age on him, perhaps a century, maybe more. Unable to hold back, she pulled in greedily, not even hearing the cupcake scream as blood oozed from his ripped, open jugular as he dropped to his knees.

  As the cupcake vampire backed away, Zoë wiped her bloody mouth with the back of her hand. In fact, as Zoë closed in on her, it was another sound that caught her attention. Several actually...

  Gunshots. A lot of them.

  Both Zoë and the vampire froze and turned to the Exit door.

  Shit. What the hell was Tristan up to now?

  Witches? She smelled the air and sighed. Nope, far worse. "Were-shifters!"

  She quickly unsheathed her sword, and as her eyes changed back to violet, she glared at the fearful cupcake vampire. She got to live another night.

  Zoë raised her sword to her in warning, the tip pointing to the bite marks on her neck. "Pray you never lay eyes on me again, vampire. I'll be the last thing you see. Ever."

  Turning towards the sounds of gunfire in the bar, Zoë quickly beheaded the nearly drained biker on his knees and was through the door before his body dropped onto the concrete.

  TRISTAN FLEW OVER THE table as the Were-shifter assaulted the bar with rapid fire rounds, and he wasn't alone. Three more walked in seconds before the gunfire started.

  The area filled with screams, broken glass, and falling bodies as the clash of Were-shifters, vampires, and humans erupted into pure chaos. Trying to quickly get his bearings, Tristan pulled his body tight against the back of the table and pulled his gun. These shifters weren't looking to chat. They were on a search and destroy mission, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who they were searching for.

  Looking around, he barely saw Dashiell in the swarm of people running around in a frantic spell, but just like that, he was a ghost.

  Tristan looked down and sighed. He kinda missed his other gun. Were-shifters needed high caliber rounds, and lots of them if you didn't get them in the head. Then again, poor shots didn't last long. And if they bit a vampire, the toxins in their saliva would make them wish they were dead. It caused insanity and the bleeds. Not the way Tristan was planning to go.

  Cocking his gun, he leaned down, pressing his belly to the floor. He popped a few shots at the Were-shifter's feet closest to him, taking one down. The blonde shifter growled and yelled, dropping down to the floor.

  "You blood-sucking piece of shit!," he growled out.

  It was all he said after Tristan stood up and locked a headshot on him. Pulling the trigger, suddenly the Were-shifter on the floor didn't have much of a face.

  Aiming at another, he fired, but not until he felt the piercing pain from not one, not two, but three bullets. The close quarters of the inside of the bar, combined with the sounds of chaos about him, had hindered his ability to avert any wayward shots, and he was feeling the pain. The third shifter had slipped past his field of view, enough to clip him in the shoulder, and his stomach. The silver set fire to his veins.

  Yelling through clenched teeth, Tristan fired at the sneaky shifter but missed, only grazing her face. In a couple of bounds, the shifter ran on all fours and leapt onto him as he ran out of ammo.

  Anticipating her attack, Tristan pulled a chair and knocked her across the room with it. Trying to load his weapon, he underestimated her rebound time. Tristan yelled as the Werebitch suddenly bit into his arm before Tristan kicked her away.

  Aiming his gun, a flash of light quickly moved past him and the Werebitch's head fell from her body. His eyes adjusted to Zoë shaking the blood off her blade.

  With escalated anger, the leader shifter continued to shoot into the bar, though now most were gone or dead. With a growl, he aimed fire at Zoë, who kicked a 5-foot table at them, knocking them back.

  She sheathed her sword. With determined steps, Tristan watched her face turn completely black, her violet eyes glaring at them. The haunting image was the last thing he saw before he collapsed.

  Before the leader shifter could move, she was on him. Her hands wrapped around his throat lifting the Were nearly a foot off the ground. The other shifters tried to aim their guns, but a wave of energy washed against them, and they stood quietly, staring at their leader who struggled against her hold. Enthrallment kept them from running, and they lowered their weapons.

  "So obedient," Zoë voiced with a dark, demonic tone. "I can appreciate that in your species, Shifter." Her eyes narrowed. "I take it you're the smart one and thereby know what I am, yes?"

  Everett stared into her devilish, purple eyes and nodded. This was bad. What the hell was a Black Blood Slayer doing here? He clawed at her hand as she tsked him. "Wait!" he choked out with his Balkan accent. "We aren't here for any humans!"

  "I don't give a shit," she replied, shaking him. Were-shifters were always more balls than brains in her experience. Otto let his people run around like lost mongrels half the time until, of course, a chunk of them wound up dead. They had a lot to learn about hunting in the human world.

  "You must have gone rabid, coming in here where there are humans present and fostering an attack on the vampires. Who are you looking for?!" Zoë's face slowly turned to her normal complexion. She wanted to know the truth. "Who?"

  Everett shook his head. "No one! We deserve retribution over our fallen people at the hands of vampers! That's all. We only wanted to chase out the vampires. Otto demanded it."

  "Where's Otto now?"

  Everett was silent.

  Zoë brought him closer to her. A low growl in her throat. "The human authorities will be here soon. But that will not stop me from turning you and the others into unrecognizable pieces of meat. Do you understand? Now where is he?"

  "He's in Metairie planning a strike. 5555 Pike Drive. Please!"

  Zoë's thinking was caught off guard hearing Tristan groan behind the table. She returned to Everett and the sound of sirens. Time wasn't on their side. "Take us there. Now."

  With a quick nod, Everett agreed as she lowered him. "Okay." He pointed to the back exit. "This way!"

  Zoë relaxed her body enough to ease the hold of her enthrallment over the others. "You assholes cover us," she demanded eyeing them both. They both nodded and picked up their guns, and Zoë moved over to Tristan. She froze for a second, not realizing the trouble he was in.

  She lowered herself to examine him, but it was hard to see through the blood. "Tristan...
" she called to him, as his eyes were barely open. Cradling his head, she called again moving the bloody hair from his face. "Tristan?"

  He had lost so much blood. Where was it all coming from? The faint scent of burning flesh wafted into her nose as the silver ate into his body. She didn't have time to dig them all out. They had to move fast.

  "Vidonia." Tristan answered. "You shouldn't be here. I told you, it's too dangerous." He coughed and retched, spitting out more blood.

  "Shit." Zoë steadied him long enough to see the large bite mark on his forearm with scarlet streaks. He was infected.

  Shifter bites were nasty infections to vampires, causing madness and sickness. It wouldn't be long until he succumbed to it. Then, he would have to be put down.

  "Come on vamper. You're not dead yet."

  Zoë lifted his arm behind her neck, despite his growl of pain. She helped him up and quickly moved to the exit with him in tow.

  .

  Chapter Fourteen: Tempting Darkness

  EVERYONE ALWAYS SEEMED to run from him. Master Darkness. But he's everywhere. He takes different forms and always shows up to collect. There's no avoiding it. No preventing it. He gets what he wants. Always.

  So why do we bother to challenge? Hmm? To buck its authority?

  Because deep down we want to conquer it. We long to beat him at his own twisted game. So when we invite the devil to dinner or slip from the hangman's noos, we feel lucky. Are we really? Or are we just tempting fate?

  The voices called to him through the shadows, first soft, then loud and distorted. Master Darkness was coming for him. He could feel it this time. The desperation. The pain. It wouldn't be long now.

  High-tailing out of the realm of humans and cops, Everett drove on as Zoë cradled Tristan's head in her lap. She watched him shiver, shake, and bleed.

  As if it were even possible, his head was warm. Brain fever was going to set in soon, and then it would be too late.

  She looked up at the Were-shifters in front yelling at each other in what sounded like Albanian. "You need to hurry up, or he's not going to make it."

  "Not our problem. The fever's got him now. He's lucky he didn't get eaten. Lousy blood-sucker. " His words paused as he felt the cold metal of a gun barrel press against the back of his head. The others watched with wide eyes. Their teeth bared in a growl, she cocked the gun and they went silent.

  "It is your problem if he dies. He can help Otto destroy The Three. Step on it."

  Everett pinned the pedal and began to dodge traffic to keep up.

  Tristan opened his eyes to view the night in a red hue. The voices were distorted, but soft, as if they were whispering in his ear. But as he saw the distressed face of Zoë, he realized she wasn’t whispering. She was shouting. Her beautiful mouth was wide and angry, but no sound of her voice. No. The distorted whisper came from someone else...

  Listen.

  Closer.

  Tristan shivered as Vidonia looked down at him with ruby red eyes. Someone had walked over his grave. Then the voice in his ear finally became crystal clear.

  "What would you be willing to give if I could grant you the vengeance you desire?"

  No!

  Zoë looked down at Tristan struggling, writhing as his eyes stared up at her, looking at her as if she was death.

  “Tristan! Can you hear me?” She gently shook him again, then looked at the silver and orange horizon in the east. Dawn was approaching.

  Swearing under her breath, she clenched the Were-shifter's shirt. "How far to Otto's, wolf? Tell me how far!"

  "Another twenty minutes, give or take!"

  He wasn’t going to make it. "Change of plans, we need a den. What's nearby? Quick!"

  Tyler looked it up on his phone the location of the nearest flagged den. "There's one 5 miles up the road!"

  Zoë laid Tristan down and looked around in the back. She would be remiss if Were-shifters didn't have at least one black body bag or trash bag. Anything to hide body parts on the fly. Of course, she managed to ride with the most incompetent Were kill squad ever.

  "I need something to shield him ‘til I get him inside."

  They looked at her as if she were insane.

  She pulled the coat off of Tristan and threw it over his face as he mumbled incoherently. She looked at the burley shifter in the other seat. "You! Take off that jacket!"

  He quickly took it off and she snatched it. She laid it on his lower half. The sun was rising with each passing minute and in his state, significant exposure would kill him.

  As they approached a dirt driveway leading to a secluded two-story wood home, Zoë got ready to act fast.

  "Get us as close to the front door as you can." Slamming the brakes, Everett stopped just short of the steps. Zoë hopped out and grabbed Tristan under the shoulders, dragging him out. "Help me get his feet."

  Rafe shook his head. "No. He killed Bronwyn. I will not help my enemy."

  Zoë glared at him, but he stayed put.

  "You can kill me if you want, Black Blood, but I will not lift a finger to save him. Vampires are the violators here, yet you’re helping them?"

  She was getting tired of having to explain their arrangement to the likes of other supernaturals. "You will not sit there smug while the humans are back there cleaning up your mess! An aimless killing spree that did more harm than good, and for what?”

  Oh, they’d better believe Otto was going to pay for such sloppiness and hubris. But first things, first: save the vampire.

  Everett and the other shifter remained quiet while Rafe got down as the sun peaked through the trees. He grabbed Tristan's legs and helped her carry him inside. As soon as they were inside, Rafe quickly released him with disgust and turned to leave.

  Zoë stood up, eyeing him with daggers. "Tell Otto that I expect him here. Tonight. No tricks. We have information and need to speak about The Three."

  “I’m sure he’ll have some questions for both you and the blood-sucker. Granted he even makes it through.” He walked out as Zoë kicked the door shut.

  Without another moment to waste, Zoë ran and pulled all the shutters and black out curtains closed and ran back to the mumbling Tristan laying on the hardwood floor. He was a bloody mess. His hair was glossy with blood, and she barely recognized his face. His blood ran like tears from his eyes and mouth, and it was too hard for Zoë to ignore.

  Tristan looked to his right, away from her. "I'm in hell, my love."

  Zoë shook her head. "That's just the fever."

  "Hell is when you must relive your mistakes day after day, forever. As if forever was something one could escape." He coughed up blood. “Death alludes the proud on purpose. Instead, you took Ivana. You took my Vidonia. You took my asshole partner, Greg.”

  Standing over him, she realized he wasn’t talking or looking at her. Tristan was speaking to someone else in the corner. He was already hallucinating.

  She ran to the kitchen and pulled at all the drawers until she found a towel. Running it under the faucet, she saturated the towel and ran back to him. She didn't know if it was his vulnerability or what, but he smelled delicious. It made her think of all the ways he could sate her. It made it even that much harder to do what she had to do.

  And keep her shit together while doing it.

  Removing some of the temptation would be a start.

  At the same time, a million different reasons flew into her mind about how everything would be so much easier with him gone, and the fact that everything that could've gone wrong tonight had, didn't help.

  Especially his precious blood all over the place. Her stomach growled and cramped. Challenge wasn't a strong enough word for this, and it was like that biker vampire was just an appetizer in comparison. Why did she crave him so badly?

  She began to wipe his face and mouth, finding herself staring at it. "Tristan. Do you enjoy killing?"

  He closed his eyes. He needed a break from the beast staring at him, the dark shadow that seduced him into this curse so lo
ng ago. It watched and taunted him for being a fool. It knew his secrets. It fed on his misery.

  On that night four hundred years ago, he traded his chance to be joined with his wife and child to avenge their deaths. He could still feel the blood of their killers on his face, on his tongue. But the beast who bargained with him never told him the high from such vengeance was only a moment, nowhere near enough to fill the hole of his loss.

  He sighed. "No. Who does? I kill out of necessity. Always have.”

  Even then, he was haunted by the memories of the battlefield. His own wisdom tormented him. A victory today are funeral pyres for the enemy tomorrow.

  “And everyone’s needs are different.” None of it mattered. His arm throbbed, and the heat radiated through his body. Growling, he shifted.

  Straddling him, she pulled off her jacket and threw it to the side. Then peeled off her tee revealing her bare torso with the gentle bounce of her breasts. She pulled his head toward her, trying to get him to focus.

  "Tristan, listen to me. You have to feed from me or the infection is going to drive you mad. This is the only way I know how to draw out the toxins. My blood is immune."

  Tristan stared at Greg who stared back at him behind Zoë. He looked angry. The ghosts in his mind wanted to play. Perhaps it was time to let them run free.

  "Master Darkness is calling my name, vampire killer... He calls..."

  She shook him gently, making him focus on her. When he finally locked his gaze with hers, she held on and didn’t let go. There was something beautiful and broken in his hazel eyes. Vulnerable.

  Weakness never turned her on, but this was different. It was as if... there was a glimpse of a soul there. Dark and painful, but every bit as strong. A throb between her legs began to ache.

  "He doesn't want you, vampire." She purred. She wiped the blood from his eyes, pulling her thumb into her mouth. The contact of his blood to her tongue felt like licking a battery.

  "But I do." Her enthrallment clawed deep inside him, enough to calm him towards her throat. She dragged her nails along the line of her neck, and Tristan gasped at the dark, thick, black blood trail down in delightful temptation.