Don’t misunderstand. Robert and Kathryn Larow weren’t narrow minded. Quite the contrary, in fact. They were people of science who trusted confirmed facts over any syllable uttered by the media. That’s right, I said were. Did ya catch that? If you thought this story would have a happy ending, you missed the blatant undertones.
Before the bottom dropped out of my world, my father had spent his life studying the science of politics, while my mother focused on biochemistry. They preached to my brother and me, before we were even at an age to understand what it meant, that people only think they know why things are the way they are. According to Ma and Pa Larow, the facts could only be confirmed through observation and validating experiments.
A year ago, on the kind of ordinarily dull night that used to make me think the spin of the world had slowed to a mind-numbing crawl, I became the experiment. Everything that followed has been a series of trials and tests. Causes and their effects on the very foundation my life had been built.
“Would you listen to this guy?” My father, Senator Robert Thomas Larow, jabbed his hand in the direction of the flat-screen, his cheeks ruddy with frustration. “Using the lion shall lie down with the lamb in his rally speech? And these naïve humans are cheering and waving their Vampire Equality banners! If you follow the logic of this insane propaganda, he’s saying that the lion—that mighty king of beasts—is going to lower itself to protecting and befriending the lambs. That’s not how nature works! Go to a zoo! Watch Animal Planet! Lions eat lambs, and vampires eat humans! It’s the basic fucking food chain!”
After cutting her steak into bite-sized pieces, my mother popped one medium-rare chunk into her mouth and chewed slowly. “I’m so glad you decided to turn the rally on during dinner,” she deadpanned, washing her bite down with a sip of white wine. “Screamed profanities and watching my husband’s blood pressure skyrocket adds a fun flavor of impending doom to the meal.”
Taking the hint, Dad palmed the remote and made a great spectacle of turning the television off to appease his wife of twenty-two years.
She thanked him with a curt nod and a slight smile.
“This is exactly the kind of talk we need to squash before Finn gets here.” Blushing at my vampire boyfriend’s name, I snatched a second dinner roll from the basket in the center of the table and picked at it simply to have something to do with my fidgety hands.
Pause for backstory. Finn was a vampire, and my Nosferatu-opposed parents had agreed to meet my fanged beau. Their very natures demanded that they question and investigate every venue proposed. So, when their eldest offspring came home, claiming to be in love—ugh—with a vampire, they felt a tête á tête with the two-hundred-year-old suitor was in order. Giddy at the prospect, I secured the date with my love, Finn Danyor, who had once been a Roma traveler.
How did I fall for a vampire, despite my parents’ previous and frequent warnings? That story you’ve heard a million times before. In the wise words of one Miss Avril Lavigne … He was a boy. I was a girl. Can I make it any more obvious?
Finn was enchanting, sculpted perfection, and I had raging hormones and the false sense of security that nothing bad would ever happen to me.
Hearts fluttered—mine not his.
Things were groped—his not mine.
Fast-forward to me inviting him home to meet Mom and Dad, and begin what I was certain would be our happily ever after.
Sometimes being young and stupid is a formidable disability.
Slouched in his seat, my brother, Jeremy, snorted. “Finn? What kind of name is that? No real person is named Finn. That’s the stage name of one of Nana’s soap opera stars.”
“Hey,” I stabbed my fork in his direction, “don’t criticize Nana’s stories. That’s all that got her through …”
“Being married to Papi, God rest his soul,” my entire family joined in, all of us crossing ourselves in well-practiced unison.
Our chorus of laughter rose in a happy symphony.
Leaning over the table, Dad gripped my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I promise not to get too political.” He paused, eyebrows raised, waiting for me to take the bait.
“Unless …” I prompted, tongue in cheek.
“Unless I feel he’s a threat to you in any way,” Dad admitted, his expression equal parts sincerity and humor. “Then I will tie him up Clockwork Orange style and explore each and every one of the theories on vampire weaknesses in a slow and painful search for the most effective.”
“Completely fair, and justified,” I chuckled, patting his hand. “But he’s a good guy. You’ll see.”
“Robert, totally off topic,” Mom interrupted, draining the remaining wine from her glass, “but did you get a chance to glance over that list for the contractor? He’s stopping by the lab tomorrow to pick it up. All of the changes need to be on there for him to put together the estimate.”
“I still don’t understand why we need to update the house. It’s an unneeded expense,” Dad grumbled, retracting his hand from mine to swab the steak juice from his plate with what remained of his dinner roll. Finding himself caught in the cross-hairs of Mom’s murderous glare, he dutifully tagged on, “But, my wife’s happiness with her new granite countertops is far more important than the food we will no longer be able to afford to put on them.”
Clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, Mom rolled her russet eyes skyward. My bone-structure was a gift from her, yet I couldn’t come close to harnessing her regal elegance. “Yes, Senator, we’re practically destitute.”
Dragging my last bite of steak through the salsa verde sauce Dad made, I rerouted the conversation to talking points more Vinx-beneficial. “So … did the attic happen to make that list?”
Mom and Dad groaned simultaneously. Jeremy let his forehead fall to the table with a smack.
“Really? We’re back to this, Vincenza?” Pushing her finished plate aside, Mom leaned back in her chair. “For the life of me I can’t figure out why that attic even appeals to you. There’s nothing but dust bunnies and boxes of clutter we can’t bring ourselves to throw away up there.”
“Have you gone up there for anything more than grabbing the Christmas lights?” I gushed, flipping my curtain of blonde hair over my shoulder. “There are those three gorgeous arched windows right in the center of the space. If you stand right there, you can see the entire New Haven skyline. It would be an amazing master suite.”
My mother and father exchanged matching flabbergasted stares.
“Hear that? That’s the influence of HGTV on our offspring. She wants to move us into the attic, like long-forgotten trolls who just happen to pay all the bills.” My father grinned to his bride.
My mother’s fair complexion and sleek, raven tresses pleasantly contrasted his sun-kissed skin and flaxen hair. Much to my dismay, my own coloring favored the paternal side. Well … they did in life. But, I won’t get ahead of myself.
Pursing her lips, Mom feigned being choked up with emotion. She fanned her hands at her eyes, waving away imaginary tears. “It’s what we’ve always dreamed of!”
“I’m serious!” I giggled, fighting to maintain the persuasive tone of my campaign despite their antics. Gaze flicking to the window, I felt that familiar pull of magnetic longing. The sun was sinking in the sky. Finn would rise soon. I was moments from hearing his soft knock on the door and being gifted a glimpse of his intense, silver stare that never failed to enchant me. Finding myself suddenly parched, I cleared my throat and tried to recall where I was in my plea for prime real estate. “The attic is huge. You could keep half the space for storage, and the area leftover would still be twice the size of your bedroom now.”
Leaning his elbows on the table, my dad stage-whispered to my mom, “Do you want to ask, or do you want me to?”
“By all means, go ahead.” Trying unsuccessfully to stifle a grin, my mother leaned back in he
r chair and folded her arms over her chest.
Dad straightened his spine and fixed on a mock version of his senatorial façade. Pivoting his upper body my way, he addressed me as if finalizing the talking points of a new proposed bill. “Tell me, Miss Larow, if we move up to the attic, who gets our current master bedroom?”
Jeremy paused with another forkful of steak halfway to his mouth, glancing up from under his lashes with a sudden vested interest.
Matching my father’s formal posture, I fixed my winning smile on him. “By age and the hierarchy of heirs, it rightfully goes to the first born … me.”
“I say we go full Darwinian.” Shoving the heaping bite into his mouth, Jeremy talked around it in a gross spray of food bits. “Survival of the fittest. We fight for it.”
Rubbing her hand across my brother’s back, Mom pressed her lips together in a thin line and shook her head. “Aw, we taught them scientific theories but not how to use a napkin.”
Worst part of this whole ordinary moment of nothingness? Those would be the last words my mother would speak that weren’t terrified shrieks tearing from her chest or a death rattle.
Picking up on the none-too-subtle hint, Jer sheepishly pulled his napkin from his lap to wipe his mouth.
The knock followed.
Its sharp rap ripped through our harmonious meal.
Intent announced like a clap of thunder before a brewing storm.
Twilight had muted the long afternoon shadows.
Still, it should have been too early for a vampire outing.
If my head wasn’t clouded by all things Finn, I might have realized that.
Had my gaze swiveled even once to my mother or father, maybe I would have seen their trepidation, the way their bodies must have tensed with alarm despite their promise to me that they would keep an open mind. But, like I said, they were people of science. They knew the big, bad wolf was knocking on the door of their house made of sticks.
Not me. I didn’t so much as hesitate when I leapt from my seat and scurried to let him in. “That must be Finn!”
Not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin.
My father rose from his chair behind me. Physique toned by tennis, yet softened by a love of craft beers, his chest puffed with protective instinct. “Vincenza, wait a minute.”
“And leave the guy standing out there sizzling?” I called over my shoulder, bare feet padding to the door. “He obviously got here early to make a good impression. That’s those manner things you and Mom are always talking about.”
Laughter bubbling from my lips, I closed my fingers around the brushed nickel doorknob and paused to check my appearance in the foyer mirror. Feeling my hair was looking a little flat, I dragged my fingers through it to fluff it. Looking back, that little act made about as much sense as applying lipgloss during a plane crash.
“Vinx, that’s not how it works,” my dad argued, his apprehensive stare twitching toward the door. “Vampires don’t choose to stay inside before the sun sets. Their chemical makeup insists that they do.”
His injection of common sense fell on deaf ears, my hand already turning the knob. Opening the door a crack, I peeked out to steal a glimpse of Finn’s splendor just for myself before sharing him with my family. Instead, what awaited me squeezed the breath from my lungs in a shocked gasp.
Little pig, little pig, let me in …
Finn stood in the doorway with his head down, three additional vamps flanking him. One captured the meth-head tweaker look with his stringy-yellow hair and bony frame. The mocha beauty beside him reminded me of a deadly Black Mamba; hair wild and untamed, her lips curled from her teeth in a venomous hiss. A hulking albino rounded out the hive. Eyes glowing with crimson hate, his tongue—mutilated into a reptilian fork—flicked out between jagged fangs. The weak rays of the setting sun battered their skin, blistering and scorching any exposed flesh in angry slashes of red.
Slowly, Finn’s head rose. What appeared to be genuine regret simmered in the pools of his wide, manic stare. “I’m truly sorry you opened the door.”
With that, they charged.
Then, I’ll huff, and I’ll puff …
The front door exploded inward, blown off its hinges in a shower of hardware and kindling. In a blur of speed, Finn lunged for me. Seizing me by the throat with one death-chilled hand, he pinned my back to his chest while his friends filled the foyer.
I didn’t invite them in.
I didn’t have to.
They were a hive, and he was their leader. When I opened the door to him, their invitation followed.
Nostrils flaring, my father barreled toward the intruders. “Get your fucking hands off my— Agggghhhhh!”
A blink, and the albino was latched on to my father’s throat, shaking his head like an alligator preparing for a death roll. Slashes of gore painted the walls, pooling beneath my father’s flailing feet.
Ears ringing, I gagged at the coppery stench that filled the room.
“I never wanted this,” Finn whispered in my ear. His body trembled against mine as he dragged his tongue over my hammering pulse. “But … I can’t … fight it.”
Despite my own precarious position, adrenaline surged through me at the sight of the aptly nicknamed Black Mamba slithering in a slow circle around my younger brother. “Don’t touch him!” I screamed, straining against Finn’s unforgiving hold.
Running track had made Jeremy quick and agile. Unfortunately, he couldn’t outrun a freight train. He bolted from his chair, but only made it two strides before she caught him. Seizing him by a handful of sandy-colored hair, she grabbed his chin and snapped his neck with a gruesome crack.
I watched the light fade behind my brother’s eyes, his body crumbling to the floor like cast-aside trash.
“Jeremy! Baby, nooooo!” Folding to the floor, my mother’s shoulders shook with the force of her sobs.
Sensing an opportunity, the scrawny tweaker pounced, drinking deep from Jeremy’s throat.
“Get off him!” my mother howled. She scrambled on her hands and knees, to search the underside of the table for the loaded gun Dad duct-taped there. Calling it the only alarm system his family needed, he loaded it with silver-bullets that could kill vamps and humans alike. Her hands trembled in terror as she frantically scraped to free the weapon.
Seeing the gleam of metal, the monstrous albino charged.
Bang! Bang!
The first shot veered wide, shattering the dining room’s bay window in a tinkling of shards. The second ripped a whole through the chest of the raging white bull. He exploded in a ball of fire, the flames from his execution singeing the wall behind him black.
“This isn’t what I am,” Finn murmured against my throat, his fangs raking over my skin. “I never would have hurt you, Vinx. Not ever.”
I may have been a pining moron, but sentimental words uttered amid a massacre lost their poetry. Gripping the silver cross—passed down to me from my grandmother—strung around my neck, I yanked the chain free and swung blind. Its longest point stabbed into Finn’s eye, sizzling and scorching through membrane and flesh. Roaring in pain, Finn stumbled back and lost hold of me.
“You’re dead, you human bitch!” the Black Mamba spat, storming after me.
Swinging the chain out in a wide arc, I lashed at her. The silver cross hooked at the corner of her mouth, widening her smile in a spray of ash and smoldering skin. She grabbed her face, recoiling … at least for a beat.
Clambering to my mother’s side, feet slipping in the thick slick of blood, I steadied myself with a hand against the wall. Bored with my brother, the tweaker had latched onto her, suckling from her neck in noisy slurps. Wrapping both arms around his head, I pressed the cross to his forehead and clamped it there. He reared back, screeching his anguish to the moon. Grinding my teeth, I pressed harder still, struggling not to gag as the metal burned th
rough layer after layer of flesh, straight to bone. The scrawny vamp threw me off him, then retreated to the shadows to lick his wounds.
He wouldn’t be gone long.
None of them would.
Gathering my mother in my arms, I tried to urge her slack frame up on to limp legs. “Come on, Mom. We have to go. I need you to help me!”
“Vincenza,” she croaked, the artistry of Death painting the corners of her mouth a chilling cobalt. “You can’t outrun them. Silver room divider … in the attic … block the door with it. Go … run!”
Her last act, before blood loss rolled her eyes back in her skull, was a quick glance where the gun had fallen.
“Mom? Mama?” Gently, I shook her, my wailing heart begging her eyes to open.
Shadows moved in the corner. A low, menacing vibrato snaked around me in a tightening noose. “I’m going to eat your liver, bitch, and keep you alive so you can watch me swallow each bite.”
Spinning on my heel, I snatched the gun and sprinted for the stairs. I skidded around the corner separating the dining room from the stairwell in the foyer, and scaled the stairs two at a time. I made it to the halfway point, where my parents wedding picture hung on the wall in a simple silver frame, when a bony hand closed around my ankle and yanked my feet out from under me. The gun slipped from my fingers, thumping down one stair, then another. Knees smashing against the wood flooring, I fumbled for anything to anchor me before I slipped into the gaping jaws of death. Pain prickled through my legs, radiating up to my hips. Self-preservation demanded I ignore it. Snagging onto the railing, I gripped it in both hands and blindly kicked out. Cartilage crunched beneath my heel, a gush of sticky wetness coating my foot. The blow bought me a moment of freedom from the vamp’s slipping hold. Dragging myself up, I palmed the gun and ran.
The Veiled Series Collection Page 2
