by A. K. Koonce
The last few rays of the warm sunlight halo the two shifters in a golden god-like framing of perfection. Louis’ dark brown hair sits high at the back of his partially shaved head. The bun is so loose I have no idea how it’s made it through all of his many outbursts this evening.
Vuitton and him are in sync. But they don’t seem to be brothers. At least their polar opposite appearances wouldn’t suggest they’re even vaguely related. But they do share something. It’s more than comradery, it’s a bond of some kind. When one spots something amiss down below, the other immediately picks up on a silent, unseen cue.
I watch their every move from over my drink and that’s how I know what they zero in on this time isn’t a jogger running at “too suspicious of a pace”, or a stray cat looking “too stray for this neighborhood”.
I know it’s something real when they both hone in on whatever it is down below.
Neither of them make a noise.
They simply look to one another with that bond of theirs communicating so much more than meets the eye.
What is it?
“Royale’s here,” Vuitton announces calmly.
Prey snaps up in a blur of movements. In the time it takes me to swallow my drink and lower it to the counter, Prey finds his shirt, smooths it down, slides into his boots and is already swinging open the door before anyone even has the chance to knock.
“Royale,” Prey says with a bow of his head. An odd welcoming passes between the arrogant vampire and the man named Royale. Prey never looks up. He doesn’t meet the man’s pale gray eyes. Prey steps backward for Royale to enter and it’s then that I note that Louis and Vuitton also refuse to meet the stranger’s sweeping gaze.
Royale appears as intimidating as these deadly men are treating him, if I’m being honest. His height alone is a fearsome stance of total dominance. He strides into my home wearing a tailored blackout suit that hugs the wide span of his chest. His silk ebony tie gleams, even in the dim lighting of the living room. The stubble along his jaw is the only unkempt part of him. If you could call that perfectly etched five o’clock shadow unkempt…
He’s a prowling monster.
Who happens to look entirely like a sex god.
His scanning attention falls on me and I’m suddenly all too aware of myself. Even while I refuse to shift beneath his slicing gaze.
“Kyra…” he whispers suspiciously.
“Kira,” I correct, my arms folding across my stained high school jersey as he appraises me.
The man glances to Prey, but the vampire doesn’t lift his bowed head.
“Prey was right: you are identical.” His tone caresses syllables here and there and grates against them at other points.
It’s an alluring accent that I can’t quite pinpoint.
“Except I’m human,” I say those words hard and enunciate them for his little critter brain to fully understand.
“Yes...” He nods while a line forms between his eyebrows, as if me being human is really ruining his precious evening. “Prey will take care of that.”
My head tilts at the stranger.
“You have three days. I’ve told Zavia that Kyra is out of the country for the rest of the week. That gives us three days to prepare.” Royale strides back toward the door and out into the hall as if that’s all settled.
But it’s fucking not.
“Excuse me!” I rush after him and only when I pass does Prey lift his head slightly. I storm out barefoot onto the worn floorboards of the building’s hallway. “What if I don’t want to? I have a great job, you know? I have an enthralling life. Friends. And family.”
Kind of.
Sort of.
I mean, maybe my mother’s phone call once a week is the only time my phone rings, and maybe Robert’s dick pic is the only one I’ve seen for eight months, but that’s irrelevant. This is my life.
And I have a choice.
“You have no choice,” Royale echoes absently before turning his back on me and walking away.
“I’m a fucking human!” I screech.
In the blink of an eye he’s on me. His hand presses forcefully against my mouth as I’m slammed into the wall.
“Do not,” his pretty grey eyes blaze into a darker, more ominous color before he finishes, “make me turn you.”
His breath fans over me in a rush of heat that seems to burn my cheeks as his words sink in.
They truly could. They like to preach that they’re all about consent, that the euphoria of feeding is enough to convince any human. But my sister is —was— walking proof that consent isn’t really their style.
I stare at the monster who is pressed against me so hard that I can feel every part of him.
He really could turn me right now, and his life would be all the easier for it.
He owns me now.
The force of his hand lowers slowly, but he keeps his forearm pressed into my chest for so long the squeal of hinges turning revives a real fear within my heart. My attention darts to the door across from mine.
Fuck. My old neighbor, Miss Croot.
The vampire doesn’t even look her way but I know, I just know she’ll ask and prod and berate me with her endless questions if she’s given the chance.
So I don’t give her that chance.
I shove against his strength and with the little space I do gain, I lunge into it. I slam my lips to his so hard that my teeth sink into my lips with the taste of copper filling my mouth.
And his.
The groan that leaves him is barely released as he sucks hard against my lower lip, swirling his tongue across my blood, my mouth… and my tongue. He kisses me deeper, it’s a wanting caress that edges on violent seduction. My lashes flutter and I fall heart and soul into the calming and all-consuming sensation he provides with just a press of his lips to mine.
It’s like floating. Like flying. Like dying. It’s like all three rolled into one.
I faintly hear a mumble from an old woman, but I’ve forgotten her name. I’ve forgotten my own existence.
A claiming hand pushes through my hair and when it twists through my locks, my entire head flings to one side with an audible crack that might have just killed me.
Maybe it did.
But the pleasure that’s surging through my mind and body is still pulsing deeper and deeper. A slickness glides across the side of my throat. Warm breath tingles across my flesh. One inhale. Two. Three...
And then he releases me.
He steps back one foot after the other until far too much space separates me from the intoxicating man I want to give myself entirely to.
“Why’d you stop?” I blink through a haze of confusion as his hooded gaze slices into me.
He assesses me from my toes and leggings, he pauses on the mystery stain at boob level on my jersey and then tops it off with the slight tilt at the bun that’s tied messily atop my head. There’s a lost look in his gaze.
I don’t know what it is. Maybe he’s seeing the train wreck in all its glory and is currently second guessing the identical part of ‘identical twins’.
“Listen to Prey. Do your fooking job. And maybe, just maybe you won’t die.” His shining black shoes swivel and he storms away from me. He vanishes with speed in a matter of half a second.
My throat is painfully dry as I swallow and continue to stare into the emptiness of the hall. I lean there for so long a prodding of footsteps steals my thoughts, and there’s the oblivious culprit now.
“New boyfriend, Kira? He’s a handsome one, that one. And such a fine, fine suit! You know, I’ve heard of sugar daddies, I’m not completely out of the loop. You could tell me if you needed someone to talk to. I know you so rarely get visitors, I’m a friend if you need me.” Miss Croot’s big brown eyes look up at me as she holds her mail in her left hand and the pink leash of her old dingy white poodle in the other.
The poodle looks up at me in pity, as if to say she gets this shit all the time.
“He’s not my boyfrien
d,” I finally tell her in a lost voice that’s too hoarse to really say much else.
“Mmm, so he is a sugar daddy.”
“No,” I shake my head, but the thoughts inside are still muddled from the vampire’s kiss.
A cool hand slips into mine and I’m torn away from my churning mind as Prey pulls me toward him, his free hand slipping around my waist as he leads me back into the safety of my own apartment. He’s shirtless again, and his hair is eternally messy. One thing is different though...
“Come back to bed, baby,” he says with a bizarre and unfitting smile. A charming smile. A totally misplaced smile on his psychotic fucking lips.
What in the Ann Rice fanfiction is wrong with this vampire?
Did someone feed him after midnight?
Prey nuzzles along my throat as he looks over my shoulder. I catch him giving Miss Croot a dramatic wave of his fingers and a wink before he kicks the door shut behind us. The door slams closed with a rattle and a gasp heard from the other side. And that signals the end of Prey’s performance. His hand drops from my waist and he turns his back on me.
“Okay. Let’s get to work.” He claps loudly, causing the two wolves to jump at the sound of it.
I’m still dazed and numb.
But I do know… I’m officially in a life or death situation with four. Addicting. Fucking. Lunatics.
Five
Prey
She’s weak. How she’s even supposed to be blood related to my mistress I’ll never know.
She stumbles once more and it’s her damn posture that pisses me off the most.
“Straighten your shoulders!” I shove against her slender frame, and she wobbles at the slightest push of my hand against her body.
Weak.
“Why do I have to practice appearances when I still don’t know anything about the layout of the world you’re wanting to throw me into?” she whines.
“Because if you can’t walk in stilettos, Kyra’s favorite fucking shoes even, you wont make it one step into the world we want to throw you into. Vampires live forever. They have plenty of time to pick people apart. They’ll know in a single second just by your appearance if you’re a real or a fake.” My jaw grinds hard and I can’t help but drag my hand down my face. I’m exhausted. She’s exhausting. “Now, straighten your fucking shoulders.”
Her glare is a seething thing. At least that matches Kyra’s.
That might be the only thing.
“My life comes down to the fate of a pair of shoes?” Her eyes narrow harshly on me.
“Your life comes down to the fate of knowing who Kyra Vega is, inside and out.” My jaw grinds so hard it sends pain shooting through my skull.
“She’s my twin!” The human girl says exasperatedly.
“Was. She was your twin. Before she was a vampire.” I close my eyes slowly to the annoying girl I’ve been left accountable for. “Tell me, what was something she loved before she was changed?”
That hate in her eyes ignites as she shakes her head.
“Life.” My heart stutters at the sound of her simple reply. “Art. Writing. She loved everything and everyone, and then… and then you fuckers should have just let her die in peace. Because the woman I met with once a month for the last two years wasn’t the free spirit I grew up with. She wasn’t the “fun twin” like everyone always told her.” Her eyes dampen just slightly, but she blinks that emotion away furiously as her words continue to teeter on a scream. “She was serious and alert, and informed on every single thing that happened in Crimson City. Because that’s what happens when you’re deathly afraid of the person who raped and turned you into a monster. So yeah, as I fight for my life with you blood sucking zombies, I’ll be just like her, I’m sure.” She folds her arms in a huff, but still sways a bit in the four-inch black pumps.
I roll my eyes in frustration, despite how the dull beating of my heart sinks for her as well as my mistress.
“You’re right.” I say on a slow exhale, and she too is surprised by my agreement.
Until I lift my fingers, settle them along her smooth, delicate shoulder and give her a nice shove.
Her ass bounces to the carpet with a firm thud.
And if I thought she was angry before…
“You fucking Bram Stoker fanboy little bitch!”
My brows lift at her insult while Vuitton chuckles himself into a howl from across the room. His laughter distracts me for only half of a heartbeat, but her arms are around my knees in less than that time, and I can’t catch myself as she hurtles me to the floor. She climbs my body like I’ve envisioned Kyra doing so, so many times before. I can’t help but react with a repressed groan as her legs straddle my hips, lifting the hem of her evening dress up her beautiful, pale thighs. My dick is still throwing a lone celebration until I see the sunlight glinting off of a sharp metal blade. The large kitchen knife in her palm is a misplaced item that I can’t even process her holding.
“Where did you get that?” I continue to ask curiously as she presses the length of it against my throat.
“Where was she hiding it?” Vuitton asks with a bit too much awe in his voice.
My hand lifts and I run my index finger along the sleek metal handle, tracing her knuckles as I go.
Her elbow flings back and the hard end of the weapon jabs into my mouth. An ashy taste of blood washes over my tongue and I fucking hate it! Vampire blood isn’t pumped and cared for as vigorously as human blood is.
It’s the closest thing to feeding on a corpse as there is. That’s why it’s like slowly dying as we age. Even a sunburn could scar us for life.
But we try not to say too much about that around the humans.
“Do not.” I take a deep breath but it’s not enough to calm me. “Ever. Strike me.” Every muscle in my body tenses as I control the urge to flip her on her back and bury my head in the soft crook of her neck, just to drain her dry. “Let’s ah… let’s all calm down now,” Vuitton says carefully from just behind the mad woman.
I notice neither him nor Louis actually removes the rabid human girl off of me. Real friends, through and through.
Kira’s lips curl as she looks down on me for another long second. Then she flings her leg around and she’s on her feet, striding away from me in the heels she couldn’t even balance in just moments ago. The nice curves of her hips sway along with the dress. Her long blonde hair wafts in the air behind her as she storms off.
She’s undeniably sexy now.
Confidence. And Anger. That’s the key to fooling people. Nothing could make her fit in more like blazing rage and a fiery ego.
So maybe, just maybe, she could pass as my mistress.
Or maybe she’ll get us all killed.
Only time will tell.
Six
Kira
“Never question yourself. Do not ask if you can or cannot do something. You’re a high council member. Number Six, to be exact. You have one superior, and she’s honestly never around to check up on if you’re Kyra or Kira. So just act like you’re above everyone and everything and you’ll do fine,” Prey explains with a wave of his hand.
“So the other five. What are their names?”
“Five?” He arches a dark eyebrow at me.
“You said I’m number six. If I’m Kyra, it might benefit me to know the names of my coworkers.”
“Council members. You don’t have coworkers.”
My jaw grinds as I sit lazily on the couch with my legs tucked beneath me, trying hard not to show my ass in this obnoxious dress.
“And their names are?”
Prey’s eye twitches.
Who the hell assigned this asshole to be my sister’s assistant? What does he even assist with? Continuous migraines? Permanent pains to the ass? The urge to dick punch him every eight and a half seconds?
“Croft one, Zavia Laurent. Born in Lille France when the city was just conquered and claimed. She is your leader, your Council Queen, and she will not bother to even look at you. Take
comfort in being too far beneath her list of priorities.”
There’s a notebook on the coffee table, I fling it open and I’m scribbling her facts on a blank page, even as he starts on with the next member.
“Croft two, Pavel.” Prey visibly shivers just saying that name, but he doesn’t let it delay his spew of information. “Pavel is an elder, and second in command. He—” Apparently this vampire isn’t among Prey’s favorites. “As vampires age, they…” his head tilts this way and that. “They do age. And… it shows.”
He seems to shake those morbid thoughts away.
“Croft Three,” he continues.
But my line on Pavel is nearly blank. I’ve learned almost nothing about the man. He’s the second in command, and he’s elderly. That’s it.
“Wait. You didn’t even give me a back story on Pavel. What’s his last name? His history? Anything would help.” I know from work as an independent investigator that the devil is always in the details. Even if I was just tracking cheating husbands instead of deadly vampires.
“His last name.” Prey pushes his hand down his face as if he could just wipe away his annoyance.
He clearly can’t.
“If Pavel could remember that far back, I’d give you his last name. I’d give you a cute little how he was made backstory. But Pavel is old. He’s… literally ancient. And he doesn’t remember tedious details like his last name.” The vampire sighs a long and drawn-out sound of irritation.
“Croft Three,” he says once again and instead of pressing him for more, I move on to the next line. “Rival Royale.”
A snort I can’t repress shakes through me, but Vuitton is the only one who joins in with my snickering.
Prey simply arches one of his e-boy eyebrows.
“He made that name up, right?” I’m still smiling hard. Prey’s just tries glowering harder.
Okay. Noted. Not made up.
“Rival is the advisor and speaker of the council. You will be in contact with him the most. He and I arranged for your role in the absence of Kyra Vega.”
I jot that down and note that I’m no longer getting pretty back stories, but just the facts. Prey isn’t patient and honestly, facts are always worth more than stories.
