Resurrection (Immortal Soulless Book 1)

by Tanith Frost

  My blood chills. I never told Trixie what I thought about that. Katya must have. She knows.

  Shit.

  “Stand aside, Daniel,” Katya says, practically purring. “Aviva is wanted for questioning in the matter of the rogue killings.”

  “That’s absurd. She was nowhere near the crime scenes when the murders happened.”

  Katya raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure you’ll be able to go into great detail about where she was on those occasions, won’t you? Don’t make this difficult for yourself, Daniel. If she’s innocent, I’m sure we’ll figure that out soon enough, without your help.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “You have enough black marks on your record already. Don’t make it worse.”

  So calm. So reasonable. And I don’t believe a word of it. She’ll have me locked up before I can blink, and we don’t have anything like a right to a lawyer in our world. She won’t hesitate to drag Daniel’s reputation through the mud if he stands in her way. If he thought he had it bad when he got demoted to training the likes of me and Trixie, I can’t imagine what another misstep will do to him.

  “I want you to go with them, Aviva,” he says.

  My chest hitches. I can’t even answer.

  “Trust your elders,” he adds. “Katya will take care of you.”

  Something presses into my hand, the one that’s hidden behind his back. His wallet. I slip it into my pocket, and he pushes against my hip.

  I don’t need another hint. I turn and run.

  “Aviva, wait!” Daniel hollers. There’s a crashing noise behind me, Christopher’s low voice swearing, and the sound of footsteps. Three sets.

  “There’s nowhere you can hide!” Katya calls.

  I don’t look back. There’s a dark night and a big city out there waiting to shelter me. I’m willing to take my chances.

  16

  God, I’m hungry.

  It’s been six days. There was enough cash in Daniel’s wallet for me to get a room in a cheap motel in Paradise that’s so quiet and dismal I suspect it’s a front for something else. There’s no way this place does enough actual business to stay open.

  I’ve had a lot of time this week to consider that idea. It’s not like I can go anywhere I might be seen. I can’t go home. Haven’t tried to contact Daniel. Yes, he gave me his wallet, he pushed me to go. But he obviously wants them to think he’s on their side, and I don’t know how far that goes. I don’t even know whether he’s under suspicion. Katya’s not stupid. If she thinks he knows where I am or that he’s trying to help me, he might be in shit as deep as I am right now.

  I don’t want that. Maybe he’s talked her down. Convinced her I don’t think she did it.

  Not that I’m convinced anymore that she is innocent. Why would she turn on me if she wasn’t guilty? Surely it’s not because she feels threatened by me as some kind of future rival. I’ve tried to give that angle a shot. Considered that maybe she picked up on what I was doing at that murder scene when I first suspected her and feels threatened by the potential of my gift. Or maybe threatened by my relationship with Daniel. But that’s ridiculous.

  There’s no scenario where her coming after me when she’s not guilty makes sense. I just wish I thought anyone else would see it that way.

  If, as Trixie said, Katya did notice me picking something up, she’ll probably frame it as me being a danger to everyone. Somehow. Especially now that I’m on the loose and hungry. She’s got to be painting me as untrustworthy by now, which will only make it less likely that anyone will believe me without hard evidence against her. Even if I tell what I know, if I reveal how I know it, it’s not going to help my case.

  The upshot of it all is that I’m no longer doubting what I saw that day. Her shadow prowling around as that woman begged for her life, as her husband tried to fight. Her loving gaze cast over her fine meal. Those weren’t rookie mistakes caused by my dislike of Katya. I understand now that it was truth that came from my gift—a truth I dismissed. I’m not going to make that mistake again, even if no one else ever believes me.

  She came after me hard and fast because she knew no one would question her judgement. She’s not interested in bringing me down a peg or two. She wants me finished, pinned as a rogue, executed.

  She’s guilty, and she’s afraid of what I saw.

  I can’t leave town. Not when Trixie could be facing a danger she’s completely blind to. Not when there’s still a chance I can help, if only I can figure out how.

  And definitely not when I’m out of cash. Between this shitty, water-stained room and the coffees I keep running out to get in the early evening when my hunters are less likely to be around, I’m just about broke.

  It’s night now, but the hunger is bad, and I need another hit of caffeine to keep me going if I can’t get anything stronger. I saw a diner down by the industrial area up the street that might be open late. It’s off the main road. Maybe if I keep my wits about me I can keep from getting caught.

  It’s raining when I step out of my ground floor room, a light drizzle that leaves the stars invisible. I take a deep breath, letting the night air fill and cleanse me. I haven’t been physically active, save for the little walking I’ve done and the training exercises I’ve been able to keep up with in my room. It’s not physical exhaustion that’s got me longing for blood now, but time and stress. Sleepless days. An unending merry-go-round of discarded ideas about what the hell I’m going to do now.

  Maybe I’ll have to go back and throw myself on Miranda’s mercy. Daniel will speak for me. I think. I hope. Even if he doesn’t, maybe they’ll give me a last meal before they finish me for good. Pretty soon I’ll be so hungry that the threat of eternal oblivion will seem a small price to pay for warm blood flooding my mouth.

  I’m drooling. Fuck.

  I turn my collar up against the drizzle and make my way down the street, ducking through back streets as soon as I can to stay out of sight of street traffic.

  The empty diner is open and lit up inside, though the sign outside is only halfway there, boasting “DI R” with the occasional flicker of a ghostly E. A small dark shape sits hunched outside the door. As I approach, the shorthaired cat with a torn ear lifts its head and shoots me a disdainful glare from golden eyes set into a face covered in black and white inky blotches. The cat stretches as I reach for the door and darts ahead of me as a cheerful bell announces our presence.

  The pretty brunette girl behind the counter, maybe eighteen years old and dressed in a turquoise uniform straight out of a 50’s diner, straightens from her position hunched over a textbook. “Rory, you can’t be in here,” she tells the cat.

  It ignores her, leaping up onto the counter and lying down, blinking at me.

  “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t,” I say. My voice is rough. I haven’t used it much this week.

  The girl, whose nametag reads Imogen, offers me a tense little smile. I must look like shit, and she probably doesn’t get the highest-class clientele in here. I won’t stay and make her nervous. “Coffee to go, please,” I say, setting my last fiver on the counter. “Black.”

  “You got it.” She closes the book—advanced chemistry—and grabs a large paper cup that she fills to the top from the pot on the counter behind her. It smells like heaven and probably tastes like shit, but it will do its job.

  The door jingles again, and a draft of cold air cuts through the warmth of the diner. The waitress looks over, and her expression tightens. A man reaches for one of the plastic menus displayed on the eat-in counter, dripping rainwater from his sleeve everywhere. He’s looking at us, not at the prices, watery blue eyes darting between the girl’s hemline and my face.

  “Working alone tonight, sweetie?” he asks the girl.

  “No. Brock’s in the kitchen until close.”

  “Huh. Bad night to be out for a walk,” he says, nodding at my wet jacket. Apparently he’s given her up as a target. That’s something, at least.

  I accept my coffee and a few bucks change from
the waitress, but I don’t move toward the door. She might not have been too sure about me, but I’ve got to be better than being alone with this guy. I sip my coffee. It’s better than I expected, full and rich and hot. I’m tired enough that it tastes like pure, restorative magic.

  He orders what I have and leans on the counter, eyes raking over me, making my skin crawl. “I’ve got an umbrella in my car if you want it,” he says.

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

  He shoots me a grin that’s probably supposed to be charming but comes off as a grimace. “Not made of sugar, are you?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Not going to melt in the rain. Sure are sweet, though.”

  I roll my eyes and look away. The waitress catches my eye and smiles in sympathy. I turn my back to the man and look over a bulletin board covered in outdated flyers, hoping he’ll take the hint. After a long minute, the bell jingles. In my peripheral vision I catch Imogen shooting what I can only assume is a high school attempt at the evil eye after him, muttering something foul under her breath.

  I kind of like her.

  The cat lets out a low rumble as the guy passes by the big plate glass window and disappears into the night.

  “Me too, buddy,” I say quietly, and Imogen smiles.

  “You need anything else?” she asks. “Pie? On the house.”

  “No, thanks. I should be going. Take care.”

  I don’t try to pet the cat on my way out. He looks like a scrapper.

  Three blocks later I’m deep in a warren of streets lined with warehouses, enjoying the night. I know I should go back. I’m too exposed out here, and I’d be a fool if I thought the hunters weren’t still looking for me. They know I’m broke and can’t go far, even if Daniel tells them I stole his wallet. But it’s good to be out. I belong to the night, and I can’t enjoy it if I’m cooped up.

  I don’t pray anymore. I can no longer bask in the warmth I used to feel from it. But the night fills me and renews me in a different way, and if I want to survive, I need this. The night sky is my cathedral ceiling now.

  A long, high-pitched whistle sounds behind me. I don’t stop or turn back, even at the sound of multiple sets of footsteps splashing over the asphalt.

  Humans. Bring it on, guys.

  They slow slightly, probably confused by my non-reaction. I was supposed to look back at them, maybe run.

  They’re obviously not afraid, though. Stupid creatures.

  “Hey, sugar,” calls a familiar voice. “Bad night. Bad neighbourhood to be alone in. Need company?”

  “Fuck off.”

  Another voice laughs, and they keep coming. I turn down an alley, and they follow. Dead end.

  “You fellas looking for a party or something? I’m not in the mood.” I turn to face them. They’re standing three abreast, tallest one in the middle. The skinny fellow from the diner stands to his left, and a squat guy with a face like a rotten jack-o’-lantern is on his right. All wear warm coats, the tallest in plaid, the others black. They look every bit as scrappy as that cat did earlier, but I won’t be leaving these guys in peace. I might be starving, but I’m still a vampire, and I haven’t had a chance to stretch my legs properly in almost a week.

  These guys have no idea what they’ve walked into.

  The one from the diner steps forward and produces a knife from his pocket. “Stay quiet, and we won’t hurt you.”

  I laugh. “Bullshit.”

  “Empty your pockets, miss. Hand over your wallet.”

  I reach for my pocket and trace the worn leather weight that’s rested there since I ran from Daniel. “I would, but it’s not mine. So very sorry.”

  Jack-o’-Lantern scrunches his face tighter. “What?”

  “The answer is no.” I stand with my arms at my sides, relaxed. All three take hesitant steps forward, but seem at a loss. “So what’s it going to be? I don’t want trouble.” That’s a lie, but I should give them a chance to go. I’m on edge, pissed off, and I can’t guarantee I’ll remember how fragile they are if it comes to a fight. I’m not used to sparring with the living. I don’t want to kill them.

  Diner Guy shifts his weight onto one leg and then the other, shuffling forward, knife gripped confidently. “We’re not bluffing.”

  “Neither am I.”

  The second he’s in range, Diner Guy finds himself face-down in a puddle with his arm twisted behind him and one of my knees pressed into the small of his back.

  He screams, and I ease the pressure on his arm so I don’t rip it out of the socket. The thick, sickly scent of fear fills the alley. That, and piss. I twist his wrist and catch the knife in my other hand, then use it to motion for the others to come closer so I don’t have to speak too loudly.

  “You boys are making really poor life choices, you know that?”

  The two look at each other. Tall Man nods, and they both run forward, hollering.

  I stand and deliver a sharp kick to Diner Guy’s side to keep him down, then hit Tall Man with an uppercut that sends him flying into the side of a dumpster. His buddy Jack-o-Lantern pulls a switchblade and launches himself at me, and I spin out of the way. He stumbles and hits the pavement hard. I kick him in the shin while he’s down, and he screams. I could easily take them all out with the knife in my hand, but I’m not ready for that.

  Diner Guy gets up and rushes at me, yelling something unintelligible.

  “Shut up!” I yell. I grab him by the lapels of his filthy coat and catch his cheek with the edge of his knife as I spin him away.

  One of the others groans.

  “I said shut up.” My head is swimming. I’m not weak. Not yet. But having my perceptions and movements in high gear is taking it out of me. “Stay quiet was your rule, not mine. At least abide by it.”

  Diner Guy is bleeding from the deep cut on his cheek, and the thick scent of blood fills the alley. “You bitch,” he mutters.

  God, that smell. I can’t even think anymore. I lunge at him and pin him against the concrete wall opposite the dumpster.

  He struggles, but can’t move with his arms trapped behind him. I lean in closer, drawn by the blood that promises strength and clarity. There’s no thought. No decision. I’m all instinct now, and as far as I’ve ever been from the humanity I cling to. I grab his hair with my free hand and force his face hard against the wall. My tongue travels up his cheek, over the flap of skin that lies loose.

  Tremors of pleasure shoot through me, and my power roars to life. I taste his fear, his helplessness. It escalates as I release a predator’s snarl. His fear fills me, urging me on, pulling me closer to that height of experience I’ve denied myself so many times. I trail my nails over his throat.

  My mouth waters, but my venom doesn’t seem to be doing anything to soothe him. He’s beyond any place where he could potentially enjoy this.

  Good.

  It would be so easy, so fulfilling, to sink my fangs into him. I need his blood, and the world would be better off without this piece of shit wandering its streets.

  Movement catches my eye. Tall Man is up on his feet, staring at me.

  “What… what the hell are you doing?” He sounds horrified, like he’s just seen a real monster for the first time, and it’s far worse than what he imagined under his bed when he was a kid.

  He backs away, joined by Jack-o-Lantern, who’s crawling. I think I broke his leg.

  Diner Guy starts to cry. “P-please,” he stutters.

  I drag my tongue across the cut again and tighten my fingers around his throat. As his fear for his life spikes, his taste changes. This is what I’ve craved without knowing it since I died, what safe and pleasant feedings have only mostly satisfied. Trixie had the right idea, after all. Fear and pain are incredible. Exotic. Right.

  Trixie. Katya.

  No.

  I step back, releasing him. He doesn’t need encouragement to run. They’re all gone a few seconds later, Jack-o-Lantern helped along by his buddies.

  I stand in the dark
alley, trembling. It wasn’t a proper feeding, and this strength won’t last long. But God, I feel incredible. Not warm or pleasant, but here. One with the night, with my power, like I’ve never been before. I want to howl, to run, to fight, to claim the city for myself.

  I give my head a hard shake. I have to go. If those guys breathe a word of this, my enemies will hear about it. They’ll know where to find me. Maybe they already do, if that fight was as loud as I think it was.

  I need to go.

  My thoughts race faster than my legs as they push me over dark streets. What did I just do?

  What would I have done if I’d been alone with him, if we hadn’t been interrupted?

  I can’t get that hungry again. That monstrous thing within me won’t rest until I feed, and I won’t let it happen out here on the streets again. One way or another, this has to end.

  Daniel said no one would ever believe me without hard evidence. Fine.

  I turn and head east, back toward the place where this all began.

  17

  The Kilbride house is quiet. No sign of human interference, no police tape. Either these people didn’t have the type of friends that would notice them going missing, or Maelstrom is even better at cover-ups than I ever realized.

  The back door is locked now, but subtlety’s not my aim tonight. I break the lock and close the door behind me. It doesn’t quite catch, but from outside the place should look quiet. That’s all I need. I’m not staying long.

  The kitchen is clean. It’s a relief and a disappointment all at once. I still smell a hint of stale blood, but no human who came in here would know that anything happened. The table is gone, as is the laundry basket from the stairs.

  I breathe in the bleach-tainted air. There’s nothing here for me, as far as I can tell. With the bodies and blood gone, it’s deader than the last place. My heart feels like it’s deflating, but I can’t give up now. I’m here. I have nothing but this house and the power that’s still stirring within me. They’ll have to be enough if I want to see another sunset.