Bastian
Book 6, New Vampire Disorder
Marie Johnston
Bastian © 2018 by LE Publishing
Developmental and Copy Editing by Razor Sharp Editing
Proofreading by HME Editing
Cover by P and N Graphics
The characters, places, and events in this story are fictional. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental and unintentional.
Born into wealth and privilege, Ophelia knows better than anyone the rot that hides at the top. That’s because she’s made it her job to clean up the filth. So when the butler of a prominent vampire family shows up on her doorstep, pleading for sanctuary for him and his employers’ teenage scion, she expects nothing but tarnished silver.
Bastian has long since lost his belief that those who rule his people ever deserved the privilege, but now he must turn to one of the elite to save the girl he thinks of as his daughter. Yet while Ophelia’s ideologies chafe, she’s different. He also knows better than anyone how betrayal destroys, and why she’s steeled herself against everyone, including him.
Together, Bastian and Ophelia must hunt the demons that threaten their race, but their class differences—and their dangerous chemistry—threaten to topple their partnership. If they can’t work together, the demons will conquer all, starting with Bastian’s innocent charge.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
To the Team Formerly Known As Blue: Your support during my old career and new one has meant the world.
For new release updates, chapter sneak peeks, and exclusive quarterly short stories, sign up for Marie’s newsletter and receive download links for the book that started it all, Fever Claim, and three short stories of characters from the series.
Chapter One
Bastian’s inner voice screamed at him to run, to slowly back away and pretend he hadn’t heard anything. He could easily go back to the servants’ exit he’d just cleared and up a level to the stainless steel-lined kitchen. He could get back to polishing the silver that rarely got used these days and pretend he’d never stepped foot downstairs. Only as much as his intuition told him to bolt, it also propelled him forward. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Coolness from the brick wall at his back seeped through his starched white shirt. He pushed forward an inch, putting space between him and any jagged edges that might mark or rip the fabric. It wouldn’t do to have to explain why he wasn’t presentable.
Glancing over his shoulder, he wished he could breathe a sigh of relief. He was alone in the broad hallway that circled around a central library that, as a servant, he was usually banned from. If he was caught—
From ahead, a young female’s voice brimmed with trepidation and fear. “Mother?” The coordinated murmurings continued.
Antonia?
The hairs on the back of his neck rose, but he crept closer, his protective instinct in full force. His footsteps were silent on the plush red carpet. He followed the curve toward the library’s entrance.
All his years of service would be at risk if he was found anywhere in the vicinity of the forbidden room. But Antonia needed his help. His employers—her parents—ignored their daughter and did what they wanted. He’d raised Antonia. The comfort, mentorship, and encouragement she’d received all her life had come from him. Not from the stream of nannies they’d hired and fired over the years.
Any desire to turn around and leave vanished.
Madame Gaston’s voice lashed out. “Wait. You said we’d share in the power.”
A rumble vibrated the marble floor. A growl? “Oh, you will. But things have changed since our last meeting. The underworld is in transition.”
Bastian tensed. The power behind the deep male voice raised every internal alarm in his body, pumping adrenaline through his veins.
“Indeed. But we had a deal.”
“The deal is solid,” the male snarled. So that had been a growl earlier. “You cannot renege.”
Madame Gaston’s throaty laugh was the one she used to cower society matrons and send servants running. “I can if you don’t hold up your end.”
“Father.” Antonia’s hiss was barely audible. “What is going on?”
“Not a word, Antonia,” Master Gaston ordered.
“Knock her out.” Another male. Who?
And if he touched the teenager, Bastian’s peaceful nature would be sorely tested.
“No,” the first male bellowed, making the very air vibrate with his monstrous voice. “She needs to be able to speak.”
Bastian inhaled as far as his lungs could expand. Information was crucial and all he had were his senses. His throat burned, and his nostrils tingled as the air flowed into him. That smell. It was like he was inside a giant box of matches, items that vampires with their flammable bodies didn’t often keep in their possession.
He halted. His scent permeated every inch of the manor above, but not down here. If he didn’t remain concealed, he’d forfeit his life. Having been a dedicated member of their household for over three decades didn’t mean his employers would show him any leniency. He’d accepted that long ago.
He couldn’t scent who the other males were beyond the overwhelming sulfur stench. The door to the room was cracked open. Bastian could use it to his advantage.
He had his phone on him, and if he could angle it just right, he could spy while remaining undetected. The only reason he owned one was to stay in touch with the girl. He had no one else in his life, no money to his name, and no surviving family. But he had his phone and a long line of memes exchanged between him and Antonia.
The girl had a wicked sense of humor. And she was in trouble.
He withdrew it from his pocket, careful to keep the noise to a minimum. Punching the camera on, he rolled from heel to toe toward the door. One developed a stealthy presence in a tense household.
Squatting down, he angled the camera into the room, keeping as low to the floor as possible, and hit record. After a few seconds, he stopped it, made sure it was on mute, and watched the footage.
His eyes flared wide.
It was dark, but a figure in the middle glowed with its own light. And it was a male. Naked as the day it was…born? What had birthed a creature like that? It had everything a monster should have. Horns, fangs, warts, and a gangly but muscular body that was mostly humanoid.
Bastian almost fumbled the device when, behind the door, what must be the beast spoke. “Get her started. I’m ready.”
Madame Gaston scoffed. “Well, I assure you, I am not. I want to know what power I am to maintain in this realm. I’m giving you my daughter and you’ve yet to keep your promises.” She sniffed. “The Circle is full of half breeds now. How am I to share your power when you don’t control the underworld?”
“It won’t make a difference, Parnella.” Master Gaston’s irritation sent shivers of dread through Bastian. That tone always preceded outrageous arguments between the two. “It means the purebreds in the Circle have more power.”
“Exactly,” the beast gurgled.
What was that thing? He adjusted the angle to record the rest of the room and silently played the video back as the occupants continued to argue
. His gut clenched when Antonia appeared on the screen, perched in an elaborate wooden chair in the middle of the room, her pale face a halo in the creature’s shadow. A ring of white powder ringed the creature. Some kind of spell? Like in one of those shows Antonia watched?
The underworld. Horrifying creatures. Power and spells. Had they summoned this thing? Bastian had been hearing rumors from other houses’ staff that vampires and shifters weren’t the only supernatural creatures roaming this realm. And the Gastons had spoken of other realms.
So each and every bit of gossip was true.
He had to save Antonia from whatever dirty business was going on in that room. Her mother and father and a male vampire Bastian didn’t recognize were circled around her. Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, but he doubted anyone under this roof had read a one of them. They were left to wither away under the years of dust he wasn’t allowed to touch.
He scooted closer and aimed the camera back inside at an angle that allowed his craning neck to see the screen in real time.
“Very well.” Madame Gaston stomped to a desk in her red-soled black heels. She snatched up a white sheet of paper and crossed to Antonia. She stared down her nose at her daughter and shoved the paper in her face. Antonia glanced at her mother, her face pale. The girl grasped the sheet between a thumb and forefinger. Madame Gaston turned her attention back to the creature. “I can see how the weak fooled themselves into thinking their simple revolt would work. It didn’t work up here; it won’t down there.”
The hell it hadn’t worked up here. Thirty-two years ago, he’d been eighteen, broke, and homeless. He’d begged for what little work his kind could do and had been accepted at the only manor no one else had wanted a job at. Today, a boy in similar straits would have much better odds of making something of himself.
Antonia clutched the paper in shaking fingers. The beseeching look she turned on her mother broke Bastian’s heart.
Madame Gaston fluttered her fingers, ignoring Antonia’s silent begging to protect her. “Darling, read.”
Antonia directed her disbelieving gaze back to the words. “I know what this says,” she said in a ragged breath. “I can tell what it’ll do.”
“No, you don’t,” the master barked. “Read.”
Tension coiled in the air. Everyone in the room waited for what Antonia would do next.
She gulped. Tremors ran from her fingers through the paper. She squeezed her eyes shut.
The unfamiliar vampire slid behind Madame Gaston with a stake in his hand primed for the mistress’s heart. Bastian couldn’t get a good look at him, only that he was tall and had slicked, dark hair.
“Read it, brat. Or your mom dies.” There was nothing unique about his voice either.
Madame Gaston’s indignant gasp nearly ruined the effect. With her limp stance and her annoyed features, she wasn’t truly afraid, but Antonia wouldn’t know any better.
“Mother!” Antonia started to rise, but her father shoved her down and stabbed a finger at the sheet. She whimpered, and Bastian caught the salt-sharp scent of her tears.
Dammit. She was going to do it. He didn’t know what the words would do, but he’d seen enough. Antonia was in grave danger.
He had nothing on him. Literally nothing…but the phone. He flipped it in his hand, turned it sideways, and flung it through the crack in the door as hard as inhumanly possible.
It whacked the beast in the temple.
Chaos erupted. The beast’s roar shook the room. As he spun toward Bastian, his scraggly toes brushed the white substance on the floor.
The cry turned into a shriek of pain and more uncoordinated movements and yelling until the barrier of the white substance had been ruined.
The Gastons started shouting—at each other, at the beast, at the walls as panic set in. Bastian breezed through the door, taking advantage of the confusion. He whipped through the melee as they shouted at the creature and shook their hands and the strange male brandished the stake and a dagger in his other hand.
Bastian didn’t slow to look at them. He snatched Antonia around the waist and dashed out the door.
“Bastian!” Madame snarled.
His back burned as, behind him, silence descended. The quiet lasted less than a heartbeat.
“Kill him.” Master Gaston’s order was absolute. Bastian was a dead man.
Antonia cried out, her long blond hair tangled in his arms. He couldn’t spare time for gentleness as he dropped her on her feet and yanked her along. She moved, but not fast enough.
He squeezed her hand. “You must run, or I can’t save us.”
She was pale, but her stunned, intelligent gaze caught his and she nodded. The sound of his voice got through to her, just as it had that first night he’d rocked her like she was his own. She’d been a baby, only a few months old and squalling in her crib, when he’d happened upon her. Another nanny had quit, and the Gastons hadn’t bothered coming home until the next night.
Now Bastian’s only hope of living through the night was to get out of the manor. The Gastons never stepped foot in the servants’ wing. They’d expect him to take the swirling staircase to the upper basement level, then to the first floor and out the magnificent stone foyer.
The floor shook beneath his feet and it was like the breath of something foul streamed over his neck. He didn’t chance a peek. Either he kept running or he died.
He kept running, towing Antonia with him. They veered around a corner and away from the grand staircase on the other side, flying down a much narrower hallway. They were nearing the servants’ wing.
The master muttered a curse behind him. Another set of footsteps pounded in his wake—the second male. What about the beast? And the madam?
A curdling scream pierced the night.
“Parnella!” Master Gaston’s voice faded. Was he dropping back?
“Mother!” Antonia slowed, but Bastian gripped her hand tighter.
Her mother was planning to do something horrific to Antonia. It’d be devastating when the girl fully realized that, but now wasn’t the time to work it out. “It’s too late for her.” He wasn’t lying. How could the madam survive that beast?
He careened around another corner. The servants’ corridors were a maze that had taken him weeks to get used to when he’d moved here. Tonight, he was grateful. His employers were rigid about class separation and they’d never been down here in his time at the estate. That was his only advantage.
A cloud of blood perfumed the air. Madame Gaston’s rich scent hit him, too strong to leave any doubt that she hadn’t survived. A mighty swipe of that beast’s paw and her head would be shredded from her shoulders.
They were still being pursued, but by only one set of footsteps. What about the beast? Could Master Gaston send him back to hell—if he survived?
Bastian banged through a heavy wood door and raced up the yellowed-linoleum-covered stairs. Antonia huffed after him, but he slowed enough to keep her hand squeezed in his. He refused to let go of her.
The door slammed open again, echoing through the barren space that hadn’t seen so much action in years, if ever.
A gunshot echoed through the stairwell.
He swung Antonia in front of him and pushed her ahead as they ran. “Are you injured?”
She slowed as she looked down at herself but sped up when he nudged her. She had the potential to outrun him; she’d just never had to use it.
They slid around a thin metal bannister and flew up another flight, using their natural speed to ascend in seconds, before he plowed them through another door just as plain as the first.
More gunshots peppered the door as they cleared it. Bastian slammed it shut behind him, nearly stumbling on the first few stairs when an unseen force slammed into his back. He glanced around but saw nothing. Then the burn started, like a hot poker jabbing into his body, and it grew stronger.
He’d been shot.
Agony burned throu
gh his back and his steps faltered.
“Oh god, Bastian!”
“Keep going,” he shouted. Adrenaline kept him on his feet, shoving forward. Moments later, the door they’d just cleared whammed open behind them.
The exit outside loomed ahead of them, but he shoved Antonia past it. “The window.”
There was no time to slow and unbolt and unlock the door to open it. The path up the stairs was a straight shot. The shooter only needed to clear the first two stairs to aim and shoot while he and Antonia fumbled with a damn lock.
She sprinted toward the window at the end of the sparse corridor. They pounded the worn and stained floor past passageways to the kitchen, restrooms, and servants’ break room.
More gunshots hurt his sensitive ears, then swearing came from behind them as the clip clicked empty.
They were so close to freedom. His leg buckled and he smacked into the wall, but he righted himself immediately. With one last burst of speed, he scooped up Antonia and barreled her toward the window. She shrieked and threw her hands up, but he turned just as they hit the pane.
Glass shattered. His back and shoulders took the brunt of the impact, and his wounds screamed at him for the extra trauma.
Their momentum carried them clear of the windowsill, tumbling them onto the grass lawn. Thankfully, it’d been a first-story window, but the landing sent a wave of nausea crashing through him.
Bastian screwed his eyes shut and thought of the first place that came to mind, a place the master wouldn’t know to check.
When he opened his eyes again, they both lay in the snow outside a small fishing cabin in the middle of nowhere.
“Bastian?” Antonia wriggled out of his grasp, which wasn’t difficult for her to do. His hold had gone limp. “You’re covered in blood. Here.”
She placed her wrist at her mouth to score the skin for him, but he dropped his hand on her arm. “No.”
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