Jonas went silent for a moment. “I’m not sure. My uncle is going to help me find work. Like I told you, my family is in a pretty desperate situation back in Haiti, and I’ll take any job that’s offered.”
“I can’t even imagine what you and your family went through in Haiti, and I hear that despite all the charitable organizations involved in rebuilding the area, there hasn’t been much improvement.”
“That’s true. Our home wasn’t completely destroyed, but it’s barely habitable. Many of my friends weren’t as lucky, though. They’re still living in tent cities.”
“That’s so sad. Our school collected donations, but obviously we don’t have control over what’s done with the money.” Holland sighed quietly before continuing. “Having to live in tents after all this time is hard to fathom.”
“Yes, our plight is unimaginable unless you’ve lived it.”
“I’d like to go back to Haiti with you one day and . . . you know . . . to volunteer.”
“I’ll keep your words in my heart. Something to look forward to.”
“Jonas,” she said softly. “I barely know you, but I like you a lot. Is it crazy of me to want to stay in touch?”
“No, I don’t think it’s crazy. I feel the same way.” He wanted to tell her that he’d felt a strong connection to her the first time he’d set eyes on her, right after he’d clawed his way out of the moist earth. But how could he confide the forbidden truth about himself? How could he reveal his detestable nature without scaring her out of her wits?
“I’m glad you called me, Jonas,” Holland said, her voice lilting like musical notes. “Make sure you call as soon as you can. I want to know that you made it to Miami safe and sound.”
“I will. Goodnight, Holland,” Jonas murmured, wishing he could taste her sweet lips once more before he set off on his journey.
CHAPTER 22
While asleep, Holland was aware of a presence. Someone stood over her, observing her as she lay in bed. It had to be her mother—checking on her. Who else could it be? She wanted to open her eyes to make sure, but it seemed too much of an effort to awaken fully. And she was reluctant to come out of her sweet dream. She could only manage a soft, wistful sigh as she was pulled deeper into sleep.
The footfalls that retreated were not the soft padding of her mother’s slippers. The steps were confident and decidedly masculine. In her sleeping state, she imagined that she was hearing her father’s footsteps. But wait! How could that be? Her dad had died six years ago.
Jolting awake, Holland’s heart quickened as she caught a fleeting glimpse of a man’s silhouette moving toward her open bedroom door. Had she been thinking rationally, she would have grabbed the phone and dialed 9-1-1.
But feeling inexplicably heroic, she rushed out into the hallway, clicking on the light switch as she chased after the intruder.
She pursued the shadowy figure into the kitchen, and immediately switched on the light. The room was empty with everything in its place. She grabbed a knife out of a kitchen drawer, and crept to the living room. The window near the bookcase was pushed halfway open. The curtains blew in the night breeze. Holland slammed it closed and then twisted the lock in place.
Fearing that her mother had been attacked—or killed—she raced to her mother’s bedroom, screeching in terror, “Mom!”
Holland burst into Phoebe’s room. She pressed a palm against her thudding heart, gasping in relief when she saw that her mother had not been hacked up by a sadistic killer and left in a pool of blood. She was alive and in one piece.
“What’s wrong, hon? What are you doing with that knife?” her mother implored, her drowsy eyes blinking in curiosity.
“Someone was in the house—a man. He came in my room, and then escaped through the living room window.”
“Holland, sweetie,” Phoebe said indulgently. “I had a male visitor, but he didn’t leave through a window.”
Holland’s eyes flitted to the clock at her mother’s bedside. “It’s four-twenty. Why did you invite that man over in the wee hours of the morning?” Holland questioned, her voice raised in disbelief.
“It was my friend, Zac.”
“The transaction is complete. Why does he keep coming back?” Phoebe shrugged. “Lonely, maybe? He grew up here, but he left town years ago. I don’t think he has any friends.”
“But . . . what do you have in common? He’s like half your age. Are you actually being a cougar, Mom?”
“Don’t be silly. We’re just friends. He got a new job, tending bar at a little place on the outskirts of town. That spell I cast has been bringing a lot of good luck his way. I really think my spells are improving.”
Holland noticed that the gauze on her mother’s neck was dotted with two specks of blood. “Those bites are starting to bleed, Mom,” Holland said, frowning as she stared at her mother’s neck.
Phoebe brushed her fingers across the white bandage. “Those mosquito bites were itching something terrible. I must have scratched too hard.” She gave Holland a tired smile. “Stop worrying so much. Listen, I personally walked Zac to the front door and saw him out. Everything’s okay, hon. It really is.”
“But Mom, the window was wide open. How do you account for that?”
“I started getting this woozy feeling while Zac was here. I must have cracked it . . . you know, trying to keep my eyes open with a bit of fresh air.”
“I think it’s very inconsiderate of that guy to come over here bothering you at any hour of the night. He’s taking advantage of your kindness. What a selfish prick!”
“He’s not taking advantage of me,” Phoebe protested. “He called me and I invited him over.”
Holland looked warily over her shoulder. There was something terribly disturbing about her mother inviting that Zac guy over for an after-midnight chat. It dawned on Holland that her mother was starved for male attention, and she hoped there wasn’t anything sexual going on with Zac. And it wasn’t the cougar factor that bothered her. Though she hadn’t met him, she’d already decided that Zac was a creep and she didn’t want him hanging out at her house.
As far as seeing a man leaving her bedroom . . . Holland sighed and reluctantly accepted that she’d been half-asleep and had merely imagined the shadowy figure.
A half-hour before dawn, Zac slipped into the suite.
Sensitive to the slightest sound, Jonas woke. Being that this would be the last time that he was in Zac’s company, Jonas decided to have a friendly farewell conversation before Zac sequestered himself in the closet.
“Did you get the job?” Jonas asked, coming out of the bedroom into the outer area.
“Of course,” Zac replied in a pompous tone.
“That’s cool, man. Congratulations.” Jonas flopped down into a chair, unperturbed by Zac’s arrogant attitude.
“Where’s Rosie?”
“With Hugo.”
“They’re back together?”
“I guess you could say that. They like getting high together. And that’s why I’m completely out of my product,” Zac said scornfully.
Jonas raised a brow.
“I found out they’ve been sampling my product. A lot of it.” Zac’s face was tense with hostility. “I punished Hugo. Put a couple of deep gashes in his neck. I would have drained him, but I don’t like the ways he tastes. His blood has a bitter aftertaste—from the drugs, I reckon.”
“What about Rosie? Does she taste like Hugo?” Jonas was curious since Zac drank from Rosie regularly.
“Not as bad, but I won’t be feeding on her anymore. You can have her if you want . . . Hugo, too. They’re both worthless.”
“No, that’s okay,” Jonas said, shaking his head.
“Are you sure? I can get them over here just like that!” He snapped his fingers.
Jonas gave Zac a doubtful look.
“I’ve tasted their blood, and now they’re bound to me for life.” Zac had a sudden faraway look in his eyes, and then fixed his gaze on Jonas. “I won’t be tap
ping into their tainted bloodstream again, but I’ll figure out a way for those two addicts to be useful.” Zac laughed and the sound was filled with malice.
Zac whisked past Jonas and walked over to the safe. As Zac stocked the safe with cash and a gleaming array of stolen trinkets, Jonas caught a familiar whiff as he inhaled the thick scent that hung in the air and that clung to Zac’s most recently procured clothes.
“What’s that smell?” Jonas’s brows knitted together in fear and suspicion.
“It’s wonderfully unique, isn’t it?” Zac smiled but his eyes were cold. He turned his back to Jonas and began his nightly ritual of arranging the stacks of bills inside the safe. “That girl is something special, but I can’t figure her out.”
“What girl?”
“That lil’ sweetheart of yours,” Zac said, tauntingly.
Jonas leapt from the chair and stalked over to Zac and grabbed him by the arm. “What did you do to her?”
Zac wrenched himself free. “Calm down. I didn’t do anything. I just peeked in on her. There’s no harm in looking, is there?”
“You shouldn’t have gone near her. You have the whole town to prey upon. Why her? What’s your problem, man?”
“You’re leaving, so why do you care?” Zac glared at Jonas; each word dripping with disdain. “That lil’ lady has a fascinating aroma. Sweet and pungent. It lingers in the air—so thick you can practically taste it.”
A smoldering rage overtook Jonas. His nostrils flared. Resisting the urge to growl and snarl like a wild beast, he hissed through his teeth. Fists clenched, he imagined strangling the life out of Zac.
“Get that thought out of your head . . . I’m immortal, remember? You can’t kill me,” Zac reminded after telepathically seeing the angry flashes in Jonas’s mind. “Listen, I was only kidding. I’m not interested in your sweetheart; I’m involved with her mother.”
Jonas scowled confusedly.
“Phoebe’s a generous donor,” Zac explained with a smirk. “She extends invitations to her home and I eagerly accept. All I have to do is stare at her with these pretty blue eyes, and the next thing you know, she’s tilting her head back, offering me a taste of blood.”
“You deliberately chose her mother because you know how important Holland is to me.”
“Merely a coincidence,” Zac said with a shrug. “I bought her mother’s car and we clicked.”
“There’s more to it than that. You’re a devious son of a bitch,” Jonas said sharply. Using profanity was usually out of character for Jonas, but he was so enraged, he couldn’t control his tongue. Two seconds from pouncing on the vampire and eating him alive, Jonas gave Zac a dark, threatening look.
Grinning in amusement, Zac gave Jonas a long, knowing look. “You should get a grip on yourself. You can’t destroy me. And furthermore, until you learn how to shut off your thoughts, I’ll always know what’s on your mind.”
“Why are you doing this?” Jonas asked, his voice lowered in defeat.
“I need you to stay here and look after me—keep those cleaning women out of here while I sleep.”
“You don’t need me for that! You can get Rosie, Hugo . . . anyone you’ve drawn blood from will obey your command.”
“I don’t trust anyone the way I trust you. A silent call woke us from an eternal sleep—pulled us from the ground. We have a united mission . . . a common bond.”
“We have nothing in common!” Jonas spat.
“You actually have a point,” Zac said sneeringly. “In comparison to your kind, we vampires are virtuous beings. Vampires give mortals a dignified and humane demise while you savagely rip them to shreds, leaving nothing behind—nothing for their families to identify except ravaged bones.” Zac wore an expression of revulsion. “I don’t think your sweet-smelling little darling would fancy you so much if she caught a gander of your barbaric nature. She wouldn’t be so moony eyed for you if she met that angry beast that lives inside you.”
“I’m warning you, Zac. Stay away from Holland.”
Zac held his hands up in surrender. “Okay . . . okay. For you, my friend, I won’t touch her. But that doesn’t mean that she’ll be safe from other vampires.”
“Others? There’re more vampires around here?”
“I’ve noticed a few. They mostly lurk in the shadows, hunting in secrecy. They’re not out and about . . . they don’t mingle with mortals as I do.”
Worried and confounded, Jonas dragged his fingers down the side of his face, and rubbed his jaw.
“The girl’s captivating scent will draw them out of hiding.”
Jonas walked back to the chair and slumped into it. Holland was in danger and he was responsible. His friendship with her had piqued Zac’s interest, prompting the devious vampire to finagle an open invitation inside her residence. If that weren’t bad enough, there was a nest of underground vampires that would be chomping at the bit once they caught a whiff of Holland’s distinctive fragrance.
Zac eyed the window warily. The deadly sun would soon peak over the horizon. He took strides toward his bedroom. Jonas followed.
“May I have some privacy, please!” Zac snapped.
“We have to talk.”
“We’ll talk when I wake up.”
“But I’m leaving for Miami.”
“That’s a pity,” Zac said sarcastically and tugged on the handle of the closet, pulling it open only partially. Jealously guarding the interior of his resting place, Zac carefully edged inside and closed the door.
Jonas returned to his bedroom and made a point of keeping Holland out of his thoughts. He was only able to have mental privacy when the sun was blazing in the sky and Zac was deep in slumber. Waiting for daybreak, Jonas focused on the mundane thoughts: TV shows, music, car models. He even recited the names of states in alphabetical order.
At six-fifteen, certain that Zac was asleep and unable to penetrate his mind, he finally allowed thoughts of Holland to absorb his thoughts.
Zac was using Phoebe to be close to Holland’s enchanting scent. Jonas realized that Zac’s loyalty to him was tenuous at best. Before long, he’d go after Holland. And how much longer before those underground vampires sniffed her out?
Holland’s life was at stake, and Jonas couldn’t abandon her. As desperately as he wanted a normal life, Miami would have to wait. Perhaps there was a Haitian priestess in Georgia—someone as knowledgeable as Madame Collette—someone who could reverse the spell.
CHAPTER 23
Walter’s company was taking a hit. He couldn’t concentrate on farm business. He could barely communicate with his jowly, plump foreman without having to resist the urge to take a couple of bites out of the man’s fat, juicy cheeks.
Agricultural conventions had always been a source of big fun. Walter enjoyed the camaraderie among his peers, the wheeling and dealing, and he especially loved the nightlife, which consisted of heavy drinking and carousing around with hookers.
But the fun times were over. He had to steer clear of conventions. Too many tempting aromas mingled together under one roof. God forbid if he lost all self-control and went berserk—attacking, biting, and mauling—as he became caught up in an unstoppable public feeding frenzy.
Since feasting on the illegal named Raul, Walter’s desire for human meat had been gnawing at him something terrible—the craving simply wouldn’t let up. But Walter had been exerting a great deal of will power. Keeping his dangerous passion under control, he survived off livestock: cattle, goats, horses, and pigs.
Getting an early start, at six-fifteen in the morning, Walter began the twenty-five mile drive to Morgan County, where he’d recently purchased an old slaughterhouse. The place was tucked away in a heavily wooded area. At the slaughterhouse, Walter was granted the privacy he needed to eat his meals in peace. He could get as bloodied as he wanted without worrying about prying eyes. He didn’t have to concern himself about the level of noise, either. Ever since that Haitian refugee had turned him into a loathsome and vile, flesh-eating ogr
e, Walter’s dining experience always produced a cacophony of gruesome sounds, with animals balking and protesting loudly as he hungrily tore into their flesh.
Hooked onto the back of his truck was a small aluminum trailer that contained three succulent pigs. Walter frowned, thinking that he was more in the mood for raw beef.
Passing miles of cornfields, he suddenly caught sight of a flash of yellow a few yards ahead. The yellow turned out to be a wind-breaker worn by a young woman, running on the side of the road, getting in her morning workout. A pair of black shorts revealed that the girl had a nice pair of legs on her—long and muscular.
His salivary glands working overtime, Walter wiped drool from his mouth with the back of his hand. He opened the window and allowed the girl’s scent to fill his nostrils. He groaned and grit down on his teeth. Overcome with yearning that had nothing to do with a sexual attraction, his truck veered slightly out of control.
Acting on predatory impulse, he pressed down on the gas pedal, quickly accelerating from forty miles per hour to seventy. Driving up on the jogger fast and furiously, Walter slammed into the back of those sturdy legs, throwing the girl face down in the dirt and gravel.
His face lined with false concern, Walter got out of his truck and rushed to the girl’s aid. Kneeling, he asked, “Are you okay? It’s so foggy out here, I didn’t see you?”
The jogger moaned. “My head hurts. And my right leg . . . I can’t move it.”
“Yeah, looks like you’re in pretty bad shape,” he said grimly as he noticed that her leg was turned at an impossible angle and her hair was matted with blood. “No telling how long it’s gonna take for an ambulance to get here.”
On the ground, the girl moaned and grimaced in pain.
“Guess I’d better drive you to the hospital myself,” Walter decided.
“Thank you,” the girl murmured. Overtaken by pain, she bit down on her lip as Walter lifted her off the ground.
Carrying her in his strong arms, Walter headed for his truck. The sight of the blood that oozed from the gash in her head whetted his appetite.
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