Twice Tempted

by Jeaniene Frost

  “How did you break her spell to reach her?”

  “Oh, it was easy,” I said, thinking it was a damn good thing Shrapnel wasn’t a mind reader because I had no idea what he was talking about. “Where do you think I got all this straight black hair from? I’m one quarter Cherokee and my grandmother was a powerful medicine woman. She taught my mother and me all kinds of mystical tricks, so your little bitch’s spell was no match for the magic I know.”

  Except for the one quarter Cherokee part, the rest was all lies. I held my breath, hoping that Shrapnel didn’t realize that.

  “Don’t speak of her that way!” he roared.

  He took another step forward and that was my chance. I exploded toward him, snapping all the electricity I could muster into a whip that shone as bright as lightning. He lunged to avoid it, but even his speed wasn’t enough. That dazzling cord caught him in the hip and continued all the way through.

  His legs dropped like felled tree limbs, pitching the rest of him forward with his momentum. He ended up landing on me, his weight knocking the breath from me. Before I could push him off, he began pummeling me while his fangs tore at anything close enough to bite.

  I screamed at the brutal double assault. Being almost cut in half hadn’t diminished Shrapnel’s ferocity. Instead, he seemed almost demonic in his determination to kill me. A stunning blow caved in my rib cage, cutting off my scream. The savageness of the pain stole all thought, triggering blind survival instinct. I didn’t consciously grab him and send a current into him. All I knew was that his weight was suddenly gone and I was transported into a decrepit alley.

  The streetlights were broken, but I didn’t need them to see as I strode down the narrow path between the buildings.

  “You killed the bomb maker, too? When will you stop taking such reckless, stupid risks!”

  My bellow drew several glances. I didn’t care. Most vampires avoided places where the homeless dwelled. They smelled too much to make eating them palatable.

  “It wasn’t too risky” was my lover’s unruffled reply. “I took care of it, dearie. He’s dead, ending any chance this will be traced back to us.”

  Fury made me grip the phone before I forcibly relaxed my hand so it wouldn’t shatter and end our call.

  “If you hadn’t used him to kill Leila, he wouldn’t have needed taking care of. I wouldn’t have told you where she was if I knew what you intended. If Vlad doesn’t believe the explosion was an accident, he won’t rest until he finds her killers.”

  “You’re overreacting,” she said, and the boredom in her tone hit me like a splash of acid. “Even if there are suspicions, they won’t lead anywhere. Whatever she might have been worth to him alive, she’s less dangerous to us dead.”

  My laugh was harsh. “One day, you’ll tell me the real reason you don’t want Vlad to know about us. Until then, the only motive I see for you killing Leila is jealousy.”

  I’d intended the accusation to sting, but I hadn’t anticipated the venom in her response.

  “My reasons don’t matter. What does matter is you are the one who gave me her location. He’ll kill you for that, dearie, and only after years of torturing you. Unless that sounds appealing, you have no choice but to keep this a secret.”

  I hung up, my sense of despair equal to the knowledge that she was right. Vlad would respond only one way to my part in Leila’s death, and he wouldn’t stop there. He’d do the same to her, and despite my anger, I couldn’t let that happen. I loved her, and if lying would keep her safe, then I would lie.

  The alley dissolved and I expected to fall back into my own reality, but without even trying to, I linked to Shrapnel’s accomplice next. For a split second, I saw her, wearing a skirt suit and reclined on a couch with a martini in her hand. Before I could focus on her face, her features blurred, leaving nothing but a blob surrounded by lustrous walnut-colored hair.

  Then a wave of dizziness assailed me, as if someone just whacked me over the head with a two-by-four. I dropped the link, returning to the present where I was curled on my side, coughing between tortured gasps for air. Blood dribbled from my mouth and the pressure in my chest increased until it was excruciating.

  This wasn’t from the beating Shrapnel had given me. No, I recognized this pain. My abilities had hit the lethal zone, and the only vampire near enough to heal me wanted me dead.

  Frustration made me want to howl at the unfairness of it all. I was only supposed to use my abilities on Sandra to see if she was guilty or innocent. I hadn’t meant to pull Shrapnel’s worst sin, let alone link to the bitch who’d started this whole mess with the carnival bomb. Now those things would kill me.

  A groan made me open my eyes. Through a haze of red, I caught a glimpse of Shrapnel. The current I’d blasted into him had thrown him over a dozen feet away. Both his arms were now missing in addition to his legs, and his skin looked like meat someone had put through a grinder. Despite all the damage from the current, he was still alive. Then his head lolled toward me and our eyes met.

  A sliver of surprise threaded through my fading consciousness. I hadn’t expected any empathy from him, but I was unprepared for the mixture of relief and pride in his expression. Relief made sense; he wanted me dead, and from the crushing pain in my chest, he’d soon get his wish. But why pride? He had nothing to do with my abilities overloading enough to put the final nails in my coffin . . .

  Far too late, I figured it out.

  How did you break her spell to reach her? Shrapnel had asked. I thought he meant the brunette vampire had cooked up something magical to prevent me from getting a clear look at her face if I linked to her, but it was more than that.

  The spell was also meant to kill me.

  Chapter 35

  “Leila!”

  My sister’s voice cut through the agony that made me want to stay in the fetal position or die, whichever hurt less. Gretchen. Sounds afraid penetrated past my pain, followed by an ominous memory. The limo’s on fire.

  I pushed myself to my knees, a gurgling scream escaping me. Through vision that was starting to blacken, I caught a gleam of orange. The flames had spread farther up the vehicle. They could reach the leaking gas tank any second.

  I lunged at the limo, blood spewing from my mouth as I tried to breathe through the almost paralyzing pressure in my chest. My vision was too blurry to find the knife I’d dropped, and the pain made me feel like I was on fire. Maybe I was and didn’t realize it. Still, I couldn’t stop. I focused on my sister’s screams and they were like a shot of adrenaline, giving me the strength to lunge forward again, and again. The side of the car hit me in the face as I staggered into it.

  My vision was now totally black and Gretchen’s voice was fainter, but my mind still worked. With my left hand, I fumbled until I found the lock for the seat belt. Then I dragged my right hand over my arm until it reached the spot. With the last bit of energy I had, I sent a bolt of electricity through it.

  The sudden thump of weight onto my shoulders was the most wonderful thing I’d ever felt.

  “Save Sandra,” I tried to say, but all that came out was an unintelligible gurgle.

  Something shoved me roughly, blasting more pain into me. Had Shrapnel come back? I wondered, and then didn’t care as a lovely numbness began to creep over me. Not good, a shred of rationale warned. Don’t pass out! You won’t wake up!

  I tried to force my way past the darkness and the addictive bliss of diminishing pain. It felt like swimming in quicksand—the more I struggled, the deeper I sank. Then consciousness returned at the brutal sensation of being dragged. My ribs felt like twigs someone snapped within me, but I managed a few ragged gulps of air. That and the fresh deluge of pain chased away the ominous lethargy. Then a thunderous noise snapped my eyes open, an orange haze momentarily blinding me.

  The fire had reached the gas tank at last.

  Through the tiny slits that remained of my vision, I saw I was now behind some trees, their trunks taking the brunt of the exploding
debris. Sandra was unconscious nearby, and Gretchen . . .

  I had to be hallucinating. If I wasn’t, then my sister was about twenty feet away, crouched on top of Shrapnel. She had the knife he’d killed Oscar with sticking out of his chest, and though her expression showed she was terrified, both her hands were firmly wrapped around the hilt.

  “Don’t even think of trying anything,” she gasped.

  Shrapnel’s eyes were fixed on her while the sticklike things growing from his shoulders and hips twitched. Soon his arms and legs would be fully regenerated and the damage to his insides healed. I was about to warn Gretchen that he would try something when three forms dropped next to them with the abruptness of crashing meteors. The fourth landed next to me, green eyes ablaze and dark hair whipping wildly as he tore his wrist open before shoving it against my mouth.

  Vlad. Someone must’ve spotted the smoke after all.

  As I began to drink from the deep slash, Vlad’s guards hauled Shrapnel up, one of them removing the knife before he could spare himself by taking his own life. Then my vision went completely dark. I swallowed again, but the pain wracking my body didn’t lessen. Instead, it grew until it felt like razors were being shoved into my skull while the tightness in my chest spread to engulf the rest of my body. I couldn’t swallow anymore. I couldn’t even summon the strength to take another breath. When coldness swept over me, replacing the pain with its icy caress, I knew he’d arrived too late.

  “No!”

  Vlad’s shout held me down, but only for a moment. Then inner chains I’d never felt before broke and I burst forth like a bullet being fired through a gun. I wasn’t broken on the ground anymore. I was soaring, and it was more exhilarating than any of the dreams I’d had where I could fly. My vision was no longer an ugly haze of crimson and darkness. Instead, everything was bathed in brightest light while the comforting scent of rainwater and freesia enveloped me. I’d smelled that before, so long ago I’d forgotten it, but now I knew at once who it belonged to. And then I saw her.

  The streaks of silver in her black hair looked radiant. So did the tiny lines on her face when she smiled. All at once, the guilt I’d carried fell away. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. I felt that she’d never blamed me for her death and that she’d forgiven me all my other wrongs. I rushed toward her, but with that lovely smile, she held out a hand to ward me off.

  Not yet, baby, whispered across my mind.

  Then something yanked me down with brutal force. Her sweet scent vanished, as did the crystalline sunshine I’d been flying in. I began to fall with terrifying speed, every attempt to catch myself countered with another relentless tug. The ground was fast approaching, yet I could do nothing to fight the invisible grip that pitilessly continued to wrench me downward.

  When I landed on that unyielding surface, the impact broke me apart. I waited for the soothing cold caress of death to come, but it didn’t.

  Instead, all I felt was fire.

  Chapter 36

  Blood.

  My mouth was wet with it while its scent perfumed the air, no longer coppery and sharp, but heady and intoxicating. I swallowed and inhaled simultaneously, trying to fill myself in every way with the blissful liquid that made the pain go away. For a few moments, I was lost in satiation so complete it was like coming and cresting an incredible high at the same time.

  Then, like every high I’d relived through my abilities, the crash left me shivering, hurting, and desperate for another hit.

  Someone snarled, “More,” in a tone I’d expect from a rabid animal if it could talk. The response was a wet, chilly cloth to my face. It took away the blood I’d been licking, and my eyes snapped open in outrage. Once they did, everything was so bright and vivid that for a second, I couldn’t focus.

  “I said more!”

  Two things registered at the same time. That savage voice came from me, and I hadn’t breathed in between speaking. Feeling tiny daggers jab me in the lip was almost redundant.

  You’ve really done it this time, my inner voice mocked.

  My teeth ground, driving what I knew were fangs deeper into my lower lip. Seemed that dying and being brought back as a vampire still hadn’t killed my hated internal voice.

  Then the kaleidoscope of colors became distinct shapes and Vlad came into focus. His black pants and indigo shirt reeked of smoke and burnt rubber, but under that, I caught the rich aroma of blood, and everything else vanished.

  I leapt on him, seeking those luscious traces with an urgency that had me tearing into his skin and clothes with my new fangs. He murmured something I didn’t comprehend in my search for the source of that scent. Part of me was appalled at my savageness, yet the rest only cared for one thing.

  Blood. Need it. NOW.

  Vlad shoved me away, one hand holding my snapping mouth at bay while the other reached behind him. That inner burning had returned, ravaging me with pain so intense I couldn’t think past the need to make it stop. Then ambrosia slid down my throat, dousing my anguish so thoroughly that grateful tears slid down my cheeks. I swallowed as though I was trying to drown, my eyes closing with relief so profound I thought I might pass out.

  Then something else edged through my relief. Anger, followed by a tidal wave of the rawest, most unbridled emotion I’d ever felt. Calling it love was likening a spring shower to a hurricane, and when I realized it didn’t come from me, but the vampire still holding my jaw in an iron grip, I was shocked.

  “I can feel you.”

  The whisper made his gaze gleam brighter than I’d seen before, yet now, it didn’t hurt to hold his stare.

  “Because your shopping deception cost you your humanity.”

  The harshness in his tone would’ve made me flinch except for the fresh surge across my emotions. More anger, yes, but born from fear of losing me. I hadn’t thought Vlad was capable of being afraid, yet it threaded through my subconscious along with another wave of love’s seething, unhinged second cousin. I thought his controlling behavior stemmed from arrogance, but it came from a pathological need to protect me. If I wasn’t still fixated on thoughts of blood, I’d be amazed at all he’d acquiesced to while that compulsion raged in him.

  Then another crippling pain hit me, erasing the rest under a hunger so severe it was like starving to death a thousand times in the space of seconds. I would’ve collapsed if not for Vlad’s grip, and before I could scream from that awful inner burning, a new mouthful of ambrosia took the agony away.

  I swallowed as greedily as before, this time returning to my senses before he pried the sodden shreds of plastic out of my hands. Plasma bags, I noted while licking my hands clean with an impulse I couldn’t control. How modern of him. If memory served, I’d be a blood-crazed maniac for days until I garnered enough strength not to murder the first living person who crossed my path. The thought was depressing.

  Then another realization belatedly struck.

  “How am I a vampire instead of a ghoul? I remember dying . . .”

  And seeing my mother. That stunned me into momentarily forgetting my question. She hadn’t been a dream or an illusion; I knew that as surely as I knew my own name. That meant there was something after death. I’d never believed it because I hadn’t seen it from the other deaths I’d relived, but maybe glimpsing what lay beyond had to be personally experienced.

  Vlad’s grip loosened until he stroked my throat instead of restrained my jaw. “My blood wasn’t enough to heal you this time. It did, however, start the transformation process.”

  “How?”

  His teeth flashed in a humorless smile. “In normal transformations, I’d drain you to the point of death before having you drink my blood. You drained yourself to the point of death with your injuries, and you had enough of my blood in you that the additional amount I gave you tipped you over the edge.”

  Then his hand dropped, rage-infused anguish scraping across my emotions before he went on.

  “Of course I didn’t know that until after yo
u died, when suddenly, you began tearing at my throat.”

  I didn’t remember that, nor did I have any recollection of being brought here. The last thing I remembered was seeing Shrapnel hauled up by guards and Vlad kneeling beside me.

  “Gretchen. She’s okay, isn’t she?”

  “Minor injuries only.”

  This time the relief I felt wasn’t fueled by ingesting a bellyful of blood. “And Sandra?”

  “More serious injuries, but she’ll recover.”

  I didn’t want to ask, but I had to know. “Shrapnel?”

  His mouth tightened. “Where he belongs.”

  That meant the dungeon, no doubt. Maybe that’s where we were, too. This room looked like a fancier version of one of Vlad’s prison cells since the walls, ceiling, and floor were solid rock with no apparent exit, but there were two stacked mattresses in the corner covered by several thick blankets. That hadn’t been standard in the dungeon accommodations I’d seen, though the absence of lights was—

  And I could still see perfectly. I blinked as if expecting that to change, which of course it didn’t. No light illuminated the tight quarters, yet I saw every inch down to the red smears streaking the walls that smelled so good I wanted to lick them. When twin pinpricks of pain jabbed me in the lip, I knew my new fangs had sprung out again.

  I closed my eyes, feeling overwhelmed. I hadn’t wanted this so soon and I didn’t know if I could handle it. But ready or not, I was now a vampire. My hand slid down my chest to my heart. Twenty-five years of beating, and yet forevermore it would be as silent as a drum that someone had abandoned.

  When I opened my eyes, Vlad was staring at me. He said nothing, yet an odd mixture of empathy and ruthlessness strafed my subconscious. You brought this on yourself, his emotions seemed to relay, but you will not face it alone.

  I stared back, noticing a tiny scar by his nose that I hadn’t seen before. That wasn’t the only thing. His skin no longer seemed pale; it looked faintly luminescent, as though covering a light he carried within. His hair wasn’t merely dark brown, but a rich collage of black, umber, and chestnut. The air around him crackled with energy, and when he stroked my throat again, his hand tingled as if he were the one suffused with inner electricity.