It wouldn’t be long until sunrise. Yet maybe if he kept running west, he could outrun the sun and leave himself behind.
CHAPTER 3
Harriet woke facedown on her couch. Her mouth was dry, and as she tried to swallow to wet it, her raw throat protested. How long had she been out?
Lifting her head from the cushion, she found herself face to face with Elli. The tabby raised her paw and smacked Harriet’s nose. “Ow!”
Elli gazed down at her paw as if inspecting her nails and licked it.
Right, Harriet had forgotten to feed the cats. No, not forgotten. Another vision.
She pressed her face against the cushion again. Kiral. No, no, no. She choked on a sob and pulled her head back to gasp in a lungful of air. Her stiff body protested as she curled up and cried quietly. She replayed the vision in her mind.
In her foretelling, Kiral had been chained, a prisoner of black little monsters. That in itself made little sense. The view from the rooftop was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. Wherever it was, the place had been decimated. Where was he and why did those things want him dead? None of it was clear. She had to be missing some vital detail.
Her curse held no power over her during the day, but she could remember every vision from first to last as if she had just experienced it. All vivid, some gruesome, and every single one heartbreaking.
Kiral’s death would be forever imprinted on the back of her eyelids. She saw it every time she blinked. Horrific as it was with the sunlight cooking the flesh and tissue from his bones, it was the fact he died alone that tore at her heart.
Harriet had wanted to be the one there for him for the past few years. She tried to draw him out, to get him to open up to her. Yet Kiral wanted little to do with an old woman who sometimes ran off in the night screaming. Marc had more luck than she did, but he wasn’t naturally a comforting individual.
She wiped at her cheeks, which were no longer sagging and wrinkled. Morning had come, and she was herself again. No, never fully herself. The shadow of the banshee always loomed over her.
Glancing at the time, Harriet saw it was almost seven. Earlier than she expected. Harriet had no doubt that her familiars made sure she didn’t sleep any longer. Her fault for not feeding them.
Sniffling, she stood and stretched. Kerr padded into the kitchen without waiting for her. Feed the cats, tidy herself up, and get to work. Just get through another day. There was nothing she could do. Her visions were messages from the near future. Always true, even the most unlikely ones. She witnessed the fate of people and mourned them before their time.
And after.
Kiral had struggled with his addiction, and as far as she knew, he was winning. Now he was to die and not because he fell off the wagon. Some walking nightmares were going to leave him to burn. It was unfair. More than just unfair. If she could scream at the gods, beg them to change his fate, she would in a heartbeat.
Harriet dragged herself into the kitchen and fetched the box of cat food. She filled the monogrammed dishes on the floor and returned the box to the child-locked cupboard. The cats bowled past her to get to their breakfast.
She stumbled into her bathroom to wash her hands and face. Kiral didn’t deserve to die. Her lower lip quivered. Cold water didn’t help ease her sorrow.
Brushing her teeth, she then attempted to brush out her hair. Straight and fine, it frizzed when even slightly damp or if she slept without braiding it. She ended up just tying it back. Harriet searched out her deodorant stick and sighed when she realized she needed to change her clothes too. Taking off her sweater, she smelled a hint of sandalwood and hugged it to her.
Kiral. She hated her curse. All because some stupid little fairy was jealous of her. Harriet had replayed that night over and over, thinking of ways she could’ve changed her fate. She’d found an injured fairy boy and healed him. So thankful he was, and funny and kind. He visited her often. Only later did she discover he was enamored with her even though he was betrothed to another.
Not that Harriet had any romantic feelings about him, but it didn’t matter to his future bride. In a rage, she cursed Harriet.
Perhaps if Harriet hadn’t chosen to be a healer or hadn’t befriended the fairy to begin with none of it would’ve happened. So many factors, but she couldn’t alter the past.
Her breath hitched.
She couldn’t change the past, but what about the future? Her heart thumped hard. Harriet had never considered it.
When she was first cursed, she tried desperately to save the people she saw in her visions. Sometimes her timing was off and she arrived too late. Other times, her trying to warn them drove them to the actions that led to their deaths. A hundred times she’d tried, and every time she’d failed. This only proved to her that fate couldn’t be changed.
But what if?
She could try one more time. Maybe she could save Kiral.
Harriet laughed out loud as she threw on some fresh clothes. Kiral would be in his apartment already for the day. So he’d be safe for the time being. She would go see Ms. Bates, get a few groceries, and come home to wait at Kiral’s door. If she told him to stay inside, he’d be safe.
Tugging on a pair of runners, she tied them and then bounced on her toes. Maybe she could put her curse to good use and save people. It made such sense to her.
Skipping out of her bedroom, she tripped over Kerr and fell to the floor. She swore he was smirking.
No, she wasn’t going to let the cats ruin her mood. Harriet picked herself up and grabbed her hand-knitted bag by the door. She waved to her familiars. “Have a good morning. Love you both!”
Her ponytail swung as she walked down the hall. The low drone of a television came from Marc’s apartment. Maybe she could enlist his help with Kiral if she needed it. Marc could probably hold down the vampire and make sure he didn’t go anywhere.
So many possibilities. The future was looking better every second.
The door to the stairwell swung open for her. Harriet shivered with the cold air and said her thanks. Her breath misted into a dancing little puff, and she watched it float up as she walked down to the first landing.
A scuff and squeak brought her attention back from the clouds. Harriet stood three feet away from a haggard Kiral. She froze, breath catching in her throat.
Of the nearly three years they’d been neighbors, she’d never seen him in the day before. She didn’t think he could be out in the day.
Her mouth went dry as her mind raced to find something to say. Say hello, something, anything! Tell him he was going to die, but she could save him. Shout out that she loved him.
Okay, maybe not that. That would be creepy.
In a blink of an eye, Kiral had her pinned with his body. His hands flat against the wall on either side of her head. She yelped and dropped her bag.
Kiral had never been this close to her before. Well, not like this. Maybe because she was in her natural form and not a hideous crone, but it made all the difference.
Heat surged through her body. He was lean and hard and trembling. Kiral’s face was paler than usual, almost an ashy color. His eyes glinted with something feral before they settled into their usual dreamy heavy-lidded state.
“You smell so good.” He breathed in deeply before locking his eyes with hers.
Vampires had a mesmerizing gaze, but it didn’t work on Harriet because of the magic in her blood. Not that it mattered. Captivated by Kiral, his wickedly gorgeous body pressed against hers. He was cold, but there was enough heat radiating off her to warm them both.
“So good,” he murmured again. Kiral squeezed his eyes shut, lifting himself from her an inch. He forced out a growl. “Please. Run. Get away from me. I don’t think I can control myself much longer.”
He was starving. Harriet didn’t need to be a vampire expert to deduce that. She could only guess what sort of personal torture he had put himself through, and yet he was still managing to hold himself back. He was amazing. So strong, so br
ave.
Well his day was about to get better.
“It’s okay, Kiral. Bite me.” Harriet tilted her head to one side and raised her shaking hands to place them on his sides. His shocked expression made her smile. “I trust you.”
The air was frigid, but once she had said she trusted him, she stopped shivering. If he would be Desperation, she would be Serenity.
With a whimper, Kiral opened his jaws and plunged his fangs into her neck. Harriet cried out with the initial burst of pain, but it quickly dissolved into bliss. She melted against him with a moan, gripping his jacket. He held her up and then cradled her when her legs finally gave way.
His mouth was on her, hot and suckling. Something she had dreamt about so many times. Her flesh tingled as if he layered kisses on every inch. She was soft and yielding, giving her whole self. Every fantasy and every sizzling emotion she surrendered.
Harriet’s eyes fluttered closed. She hadn’t realized Kiral had lowered her to the floor until her hand fell weakly and rapped against the concrete. It had been so long since she felt this happy. The man she loved held her in his arms, and she was giving him what he needed to survive. Her blood. Her life essence was now in him too.
The world faded for a moment and her senses dulled. She floated as if she were misty breath dancing on air.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Shaking, Kiral dropped her to the floor and stumbled up the stairs.
Harriet didn’t feel it when she tumbled to the concrete. She was a smile. She was untethered bliss.
* * *
It seemed like an eternity before Harriet heard the door open. Or it could’ve been a few seconds. Did Kiral come back for her? She wanted him to hold her again.
Fingers on her neck and then she was scooped up by strong arms. Too many muscles and a broad chest. Not Kiral.
She asked where Kiral was, but she wasn’t sure her lips were moving.
Feeling returned to her body like an echo. The pleasure of Kiral’s bite quirked up her lips again. She paid no attention to the pounding, but imagined Kiral kissing her with his now warm mouth. Hot and sensual, wanting her every bit as she wanted him.
Softness cushioned her. A couch. So comfy.
From somewhere, Marc growled. She’d know that rough baritone anywhere. “Where did you find her? Who did this to her?”
“In the stairwell.” A second man’s voice. More cultured than Marc’s, but hard and sharp. Xan. “It was that vamp. I knew he was bad news.”
Kiral wasn’t bad news. How could they think such a thing?
“Damn him.” Marc snarled and took her hand in his. “Harri, you okay? How badly did he hurt you?”
“Kiral,” Harriet whispered. She had to explain. It wouldn’t do to have Marc angry with Kiral. She might need him to help later.
“Yes, I know. We’ll take care of him—”
“No.” She squeezed his hand as her eyes fluttered open. The apartment swam before her, but she couldn’t stop talking. They had to know. “You let him be. He didn’t hurt me. He stopped in time. It was . . . it was wonderful.”
Her eyes closed with her dreamy sigh and another smile.
Kiral’s sexy gaze locked with hers. In her mind. Did she pass out? She could still hear the chatter on the television. Where she was lying smelled like man. A little like coffee too. Still had to be in Marc’s apartment, but she didn’t hear him.
Oh dear. Marc didn’t leave to confront Kiral? She tried to rise, but her body wouldn’t listen. Perhaps she could enlist some help.
“Xan.” Harriet hoped he was still there. Xan and Marc going after Kiral was a doubly bad thing.
“I’m here.” Xan’s voice was soft and close to her head.
“Marc. He’s not . . . killing Kiral?” Her eyes fluttered, but they were so heavy. Even as she said it, she knew it was silly. Marc wouldn’t be the one to kill Kiral.
“No, I don’t think so.” Xan paused as if thinking about it. “Do you need anything? I’m at your service.”
No, Marc was Kiral’s friend. He might be angry that he bit her, but she’d recover. And oh, that bite. She could barely keep awake and she still wanted another one. She smiled, feeling warm through and through.
Harriet tried to open her eyes again with no luck. It didn’t matter. She liked what she was seeing in her mind’s eye. It reminded her that maybe Xan might understand now. She’d heard the woman in his apartment this past week.
“No, thank you. You’re sweet. I heard you have a woman in your apartment.”
He paused again and then asked, “Last night, you in the hall . . . .”
They’d heard her screaming then. And Xan knew of her curse. She could only imagine what he was feeling.
“Don’t worry.” Harriet finally managed to open her eyes a bit. She hoped she looked as sympathetic as she felt. “Not you. Not her.”
Xan let out a long breath. “May I ask who?”
Her stomach clenched. Kiral. She had to stay awake. She had to talk to him. Her head was starting to feel light again. Too light.
No. Harriet could feel tears coming on. “Kiral.”
Maybe Xan would help. Maybe. But instead he said, “Rest now. Your tears are more than he deserves.”
Harriet tried to tell him that Kiral was more than deserving. Xan never saw what a good soul the vampire was. She understood where Xan was coming from, battling evil as he did, but not everything with fangs was bad.
She was going to save Kiral. Even as unconsciousness wrapped around her, she saw him burning on the rooftop. She would make sure it didn’t happen. She would give him his future back.
CHAPTER 4
Kiral slammed his door and raced to smack into the far wall of his apartment, clinging to it as if it could keep him from going back to sup upon the young woman again. No, sup was too mild a word. He wanted to tear into her, lick up every drop on her bones, and then crack them open to feast upon her marrow.
He would kill her. Worse than just kill her. He needed to stay away from her.
He had to see her again.
She had given himself over to him. Knowing who and what he was, the honey-haired beauty bared her neck. Long and sinuous like her legs.
Who was she and why did she do it? There were people who were addicted to a vampire’s bite. She wasn’t one of them. Her body was unmarred. Perfect. She smelled familiar, but not like anyone he’d ever met.
Peeling himself from the wall, he paced the length of his apartment. The bare brick walls and black leather furniture did nothing to mute his mood. Blood lust roared within, but something else.
Kiral licked his lips, savoring her blood. Magic. More than just ordinary magic. Sweet and pure. Virgin? Perhaps, but that didn’t truly matter. It was who she was that resided in every cell. A taste of her soul.
Who was she? He had to know.
The lone lamp flickered in the corner by his reading chair. Heavy footsteps grew louder and stopped in front of his door. Pounding, like the echo of her heart, called him to it.
For a brief second, Kiral thought it might be her, but the fist smashing into his face as he opened the door punctuated the ridiculousness of the thought. He stumbled backwards, grabbing the back of a chair to keep his balance. Blood trickled from his busted lip.
A wave of heat accompanied Marc into Kiral’s apartment. If he thought his friend was angry when he caught him with the dealer, it was nothing compared to the raw fury in his eyes now. Did Marc think he killed the woman? He licked his bloody lip, shuddering with the sweetness of her.
Kiral held up a hand as if it could stop him. “Marc! Stop! I didn’t kill her. It’s—”
Again, Marc hit him. This time in the gut with the force of a sledge. Kiral doubled over, trying to get out the right words.
Yanking Kiral up by the hair, Marc hissed into his face. “You junkie scum. That girl lives here under my care.”
She was under Marc’s care? Not that Kiral would ever betray his friendship, but maybe Marc could help him wit
h her. Introduce them properly, supervise them. Kiral could talk to her, hear that husky voice again, and get to know the woman who had changed his life.
Drastic as the realization seemed, the truth of it settled over him like a warm blanket.
“She lives here? On this floor? I’ve never seen her before.”
Marc narrowed his eyes. “You’ll leave her be. You’ve traumatized the poor girl enough. What’s gotten into you? You drink something?” Marc released Kiral, but didn’t move away. “I saved your ass earlier and you run off to find another hit?”
It was like another fist to the abdomen to hear his friend say that. Yet what did he expect Marc to think? He’d been caught talking with a dealer and then nearly drained a woman in the stairwell. He was lucky Marc didn’t punch him again for he more than deserved it.
“No.” Kiral shook his head, desperate for Marc to see he wasn’t lying. “No, I didn’t. I wandered around for a while, and it was a fight. I felt like I was losing my mind. I’d come so close. If you hadn’t—” He cut himself off. Marc knew what happened. One thing he liked about their friendship was that some things didn’t need to be said. What he needed to explain was how he felt about the woman. Picturing her face, rounded cheeks and eyes like a summer sky, he smiled.
“I came back here, and when I ran into her in the stairwell, oh, she smelled like nothing else in this world. I couldn’t help myself. And I swear, I swear she didn’t fight me. It was as if she wanted it too. She’s better than any high. She’s like tasting heaven.”
Perhaps she was an angel. Not that what Kiral rambled on about was helping his case. Marc’s jaw clenched as he looked away from him.
Was Marc disgusted by him? His friend had witnessed him at his lowest. Shaking, ranting, sobbing. Yet Marc had never seen him feed, or even the aftermath of his drinking. Maybe he thought Kiral meant to kill her. Or even that Kiral didn’t care.
No, he had to show him. He’d make this right. “I need to see her, Marc.”
The Oracle & the Vampire (The 13th Floor) Page 2
