Immortal Kiss

by J. K. Coi

  Closing on midnight, there’d been no signs of life coming from either direction in a long time. “First things first.” Max had to find out just where she was, then she would know whether she’d be spending a long, cold night in the car, or if she could risk hoofing it to a pay phone to call a tow truck.

  A worried glance into the dark forest that loomed on either side of the road decided that particular dilemma for her. She would not be walking.

  Hell, right now she didn’t even care to get the car towed. The piece of crap could stay where it was until the end of time. But she’d need a taxi.

  Would a cabbie even come out here at this time of night?

  With one last swing of her booted foot at the tire—the only part of her car that might actually still work—Max sighed and got back in. Rummaging through the glove compartment, she pulled out a neatly folded map of the minor metropolis of Chandler, glad now that she’d thought to pick one up at the last gas station.

  Before deciding to stay home and care for Jackson, she had done a lot of traveling. With her business it was virtually impossible not to, and she’d quickly gotten into the habit of grabbing a map first thing upon entering any new town.

  Reaching above her head, she pressed the button to turn on the car’s interior light and unfolded the map over the steering wheel.

  A sharp rap on her driver’s side window startled her and a small squeal erupted from her throat. Max jumped in her seat, her fists crumpling the paper in her lap. Her hand immediately went to her back, feeling for the heavy comfort of the SIG-Sauer she never left home without, but of course the gun was in the glove box. A glance in that direction reassured her that the door to the small storage compartment was still hanging open.

  She looked through the window to find a man staring in at her, smiling. Though it was pitch black outside and hard to make out the details of his face, she didn’t think it was a nice smile.

  It was amazing how being alone in the dark could make a person imagine ghosts and goblins under every rock and behind every blade of grass. She hadn’t even heard him drive up.

  “Sorry to startle you,” he called through her car window. He seemed to be trying for friendly and reassuring, but Max thought she heard a trace of unhealthy excitement in his thready voice. She swallowed hard and forced herself to quit being ridiculous. “I saw your car sitting here and wondered if I could offer some assistance.”

  There was no moon in the cloudy sky, and so very little light filtered past his shadowed form and through the window. Max could just barely make out sharp, angled features in a pale face. He had dark hair that hung down low over his forehead.

  She fervently wished she could see his eyes. She had always trusted her instincts when it came to seeing the truth in people’s eyes. But even without the eyes, her instincts were telling her she needed to run.

  She wanted her gun badly.

  The poor guy must have sensed he was making her nervous, because he straightened and stepped back from the car, hands spread out at his sides in an effort to show her he was harmless. The shadows shifted around him, giving her a glimpse of his face, and she gasped, unable to keep it in, pressing a hand over her mouth. The left side of his face was covered in an angry red burn that was only half healed. Max couldn’t imagine the pain he must have experienced. Just the sight of the horrible, puckered skin made her flinch in sympathy, but she still found herself wishing there was more between the two of them than a mere pane of thin, clear glass.

  She told herself she was overreacting and tried to relax, to let go of the insane idea that she’d just met a serial axe murderer on the road to Chandler.

  The man may have recently suffered an accident, that was all, and it was nothing to be afraid of. Given the suit jacket and long trench coat, he was obviously just an average guy on his way home after working a late night in town. A banker. Maybe a lawyer or an accountant. Something boring. Something mediocre. Something ordinary and safe.

  Wasn’t this exactly what she had been hoping for not ten minutes ago? That someone would come along and offer to help her so she wouldn’t be stranded here all night?

  Yes, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to play this situation nice and safe.

  Max casually slid the lock of her driver’s side door before she rolled the window down a fraction of an inch, hoping he wouldn’t be offended by her overabundance of caution. “Hi there. Uh, sorry for the freak-out. It’s just…it’s dark, and well…”

  “No need to apologize, miss, I understand completely.” He gave her what Max supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile, but it didn’t make her feel a whit better. “A woman has to be careful when she’s out alone at night these days,” he continued. “My name is Devon.”

  His voice…it was low, calm, almost hypnotic, but there was something off about it, almost as if the display of smooth affability was a façade and behind the scarred mask, he laughed at her.

  It was totally creeping her out.

  She forcibly shrugged off the strangling sense of impending doom, putting it down to anxiety and imagination, both of which she could have done without at a time like this. Max generally didn’t ignore her instincts, but in this case she didn’t have much of a choice if she wanted to avoid being stuck here the rest of the night.

  “Devon, you said? Do you happen to have a cell phone on you?” Of course he would have a cell phone. Who didn’t carry one these days? “If I could borrow it to call a cab, I’d really appreciate it. Mine isn’t working for some reason, and my car seems to have breathed its last.”

  “Yes, of course I have a cell phone, but unfortunately, my dear, they don’t ever work in this area. Something about the old uranium mines.” His smile got bigger, toothier. “I could drive you into town myself.”

  It came to Max again that she hadn’t heard him drive up. She realized she had no idea where this guy had come from. He hadn’t parked a car in front of her, and a quick glance in the rear view mirror confirmed there was nothing parked behind. Craning her neck to see past his imposing figure and down the dark and deserted street, she still didn’t see a vehicle.

  Her instincts were screaming at her to hurry and get away. Far away. Now. But she had to stay calm. In control.

  She was trying very hard not to show this guy any fear, because if he were some kind of psycho, fear would be the catalyst, the thing that was sure to get her killed and her body dumped in the bushes somewhere in the thick foliage beyond the road.

  “Uh…sorry, I don’t see your car. Where exactly did you come from again?” Max swallowed, hoping he couldn’t tell how badly her voice croaked, or see her hand clenched into a fist in her lap, crumpling the map into a pulpy mess of sweat and paper.

  His expression didn’t change, but all of a sudden her limbs felt heavy. Impossibly, his eyes seemed to be glowing, and she couldn’t look away. She could hear his laughter, but oddly, the sound was only in her mind. An unnatural, hungry echo. She felt it ripping through her brain, sinking into the tissue. What the hell was going on?

  Just what kind of trouble had she inadvertently gotten herself into?

  The really super bad kind, that was what.

  With what felt like Herculean effort, Max tore her gaze from Devon’s disturbing eyes. Once that connection was broken, she was able to control her body better, but not by much. It was still like trying to swim in a pool full of gelatin. Her movements were heavy and sluggish.

  She lunged for the glove compartment, fingertips outstretched as she reached desperately for her gun. Just as she felt the blessedly cool metal meet her palm, the laughter in her brain turned to an animal roar. She heard a wrenching squeal, the sound of metal screaming in protest as the driver’s side door of her car was ripped from its hinges and tossed effortlessly across two lanes into the gravel ditch on the other side of the road.

  Max’s terrified cry was lost in the piercing clamor of Devon’s inhuman howl. All of it inside her mind. If he didn’t kill her, she knew she would quickly g
o mad from the sick, twisted echo, the feeling that he was all around her, inside her. A part of her.

  Max tightened her grip on the gun but didn’t get a chance to bring it around or point it at the madman before he had seized her arm, pulling her roughly from the car.

  She screamed as her shoulder was jerked from its socket, felt the sharp dig of his nails tearing into the muscles of her forearm. She cried out again when he yanked her forward, and fell to her knees on the rough, dirty asphalt.

  Her eyes widened as she glimpsed the ruined door of her car lying in a mangled and misshapen heap on the other side of the road. Holy hell, the guy was strong. If he had just done that to her car, what did he have planned for her?

  Her attacker had stepped away and stood motionless in front of her, watching…as if he had all the time in the world and was just going to sit back and enjoy her fear and the other emotions he was able to draw out of her. Panic, disbelief, and helplessness.

  Max’s jaw tightened. She wasn’t going to make it so easy for him. If he wanted a reaction from her, he’d get it, but it wouldn’t be what he expected. Better than this psycho had tried to frighten her, intimidate her, make her feel weak and defenseless.

  Now he was just making her angry.

  She lifted her chin as she met his amused stare, but her new resolve started to waver when he grinned widely, baring impossibly long, sharp canines. The look in his glowing eyes glittered with pure, unadulterated evil.

  Max knew she was in serious trouble, but she wasn’t without resources. She carried a weapon for a reason and wasn’t afraid to use it.

  She disengaged the safety and whipped her gun on him as fast as she could.

  Not fast enough.

  Devon’s fist smashed into her face. Her head whipped to the side, body slamming back against the hard metal frame of the ruined car. The air whooshed from her lungs, but still she held onto the gun, her fingers in a lockjaw grip around the handle.

  Oh hell, that hurts like a bitch. The pain was a hot, jagged line into her skull. She thought he’d probably broken her jaw.

  Her vision was blurry. She could barely see him standing before her. Just shadows. Dark, menacing shadows. Didn’t matter. Squeezing the trigger, she fired, not knowing whether she was going to hit the bastard or not, only knowing she had to do something.

  The sound of the gunshot boomed in her ears, finally cutting off the horrible laughter and insidious whispers that had continued to rape her mind. With grim satisfaction, she watched Devon double over, take a faltering step back. She’d hit him. In the stomach.

  Thank God.

  Wait a minute. He wasn’t falling. Why wasn’t he falling? Why hadn’t he keeled over onto his back yet, nice and dead like a good little maniac?

  He was already straightening, laughing at her again, this time right out loud with his lips pulling back from those impossibly sharp teeth in a combination of animal snarl and evil grin.

  On her knees, Max quickly scrambled around to the front of her car, using it as a barrier between them, a wall to which she could retreat and take aim again.

  Leaning over the dusty hood, which still trailed a thin line of smoke from the engine underneath, Max trained her gun on Devon.

  As she watched, he spread his arms wide, mocking her attempt to do him in. “Go ahead and shoot me again my dear,” he dared, his voice ripe with warped amusement. “Your weapon isn’t going to kill me.”

  “We’ll see about that, you asshole.”

  She did shoot him again, more out of principle than a belief that it was going to do any good. Again, she knew her aim was true, but Devon moved so fast—too fast for her even to see. He was just…gone, and the bullet smashed into the trunk of a tree in the thicket across the road.

  Before the loud crack of the shot had completely died out, he was standing by her side, not a foot away. He wrenched the gun from her hands.

  Max fought. With everything she had, she fought him, but his strength…his strength was colossal…not human.

  Oh my God, he’s not human.

  He laughed again, obviously enjoying her struggles, her fear, and Max knew she was going to die. “You’re right.” His voice betrayed his excitement, the sick enjoyment he was getting from this. “On all counts, I’m afraid. I’m not human, you are going to die, and yes…I am reading your mind.”

  His hand was tight around her throat now, squeezing, crushing her windpipe. She clawed at his wrist, his arm, trying to loosen his hold enough to pull oxygen into her burning lungs. Her vision was quickly going fuzzy and dark, black shadows like syrupy globs of ink floating in front of her eyes.

  “Fuck you,” she rasped on her one last puff of air, fingers still clawing weakly.

  His head bent to her neck, and she felt those teeth grazing the column of her throat, felt his tongue come out and lick the sweat from her skin in one long swipe. At that moment she knew exactly what was happening, exactly what she had unwittingly come up against—

  Vampire.

  His claws dug into the flesh and muscle of her upper arms as he pulled her closer to him. He smelled of dirt and blood and evil—exactly what you expected the essence of insanity to smell like. She gasped as the teeth tore through her skin with brutal efficiency. She could feel her blood trickling thickly down her neck to the valley of her breasts, sticky and hot.

  Inside her mind Max felt Devon’s satisfaction, his eagerness. He wanted to rip her apart like an animal, but she sensed he was weak and his need for her blood was great. He couldn’t afford to waste any of it with games.

  The teeth that pierced her went deep, and she couldn’t help the moan passing across her lips at the sharp tug of his mouth as he started to draw her blood. The sounds were like something out of a bad movie, sucking and slurping and great hungry swallows.

  Oh God, this was really happening to her. She was going to die out here at the hands of this monster…and it’s all Baron’s fault.

  * * * * *

  Devon was surprised. Very surprised. What luck he was having tonight.

  He let the woman’s smooth, rich blood fill him, heal him. He could feel the burns on his face fading and knew the charred, ruined skin was turning pink and healthy again. His body warmed as her blood started pumping in his starved veins.

  He had intended to drain the woman dry—he sorely needed her rejuvenating blood to restore him to full strength—but she’d surprised him with her spirit and fire, just as she’d surprised him with her thoughts.

  Baron.

  Oh, it was too good to be true, but the proof was right there in her mind, in the fevered whisper of the damn Immortal’s name inside her head. The Immortal who had dared take his mate from him. The Immortal who had been close on his heels every night since then like a bloodhound after a scent.

  Devon had been forced into hiding—an animal on the run. Hunted.

  A week after he’d lost Bettina, the bastards had found and raided his lair in the city, forcing him out onto the street just moments before dawn. He’d managed to avoid the sun, but only barely. And two nights ago they’d found him again. Only by the skin of his pointed vampire teeth, by the strength of his hatred and desire to have vengeance upon their hides, had he managed to escape the fire they’d set to trap him. Thankfully, he found his way into the subway tunnels before the sun could do more than just blister his face.

  He still suffered from the painful burns, and was forced to seek shelter out here in the middle of nowhere to avoid the Immortals. Here, where human traffic was nonexistent at night, making human blood impossible to find. Injured and weak as he was, he needed a large amount of it to heal completely and there was none to be found…until tonight. Until one woman’s car just happened to break down on the side of the road only meters from his dank hole in the ground.

  Devon’s hatred for the Immortals thundered hotly in his veins. He hungered constantly for the revenge he’d promised them. For what they had done to his beloved Bettina they both deserved to die—deserved more than
death.

  This surprising young woman would be his first strike against them.

  Her sweet blood still flowed into him, drawing a sharp moan of pleasure from his lips, and he drank until he knew she was but moments from her death.

  Her heart had slowed, barely beating now. Her breathing was shallow. Her eyes were closed, long, soft lashes brushing the tops of her paper-white cheeks. And her hand no longer clutched his wrist to pull him away but fell limply to her side.

  She really was a beautiful woman, and looking at her, Devon felt the loss of his Bettina sharply.

  He pulled from her throat and scored his wrist with his teeth, pushing the bloody gash to her mouth.

  “Drink.”

  Chapter Three

  Baron lay back on the flat bench, his feet firmly planted on either side of it, and lifted the free weights straight up over his chest, then back down. Again. Again.

  The workout soothed him, focused his mind.

  It was late—or rather it was early. He’d returned with Rhys an hour ago from patrolling the city. But while Rhys had been more than willing to put the evening’s dangers behind him and retreat to his room to enjoy what was left of the night with his lovely wife, Baron was still wound tighter than a two-dollar pocket watch. Unable to settle, unable to relax.

  Tonight they’d taken out three watchers partying it up in the downtown core, and last night Baron and the twins had ousted a nest of Vuxi demons terrorizing the homeless out by the wharf. Technically, it had been a good week. No casualties, no injuries, the general human public remained blissfully ignorant of the evil lurking in their midst. But Baron couldn’t shake the feeling of restless unease, an edginess that he knew very well came from the fact that he hadn’t caught the vampire yet.

  Devon—Alric had found out the vamp’s name the first day of their hunt—was still out there, still eluding them. They’d come close a few times since that fucked-up encounter on the first night, but it seemed this vampire had the devil’s own luck when it came to his sense of self-preservation.