But if he took one more step forward, dreams, memories, would be all I’d have left of him.
He took a step forward.
I squeezed.
He raised his hand.
“Wait.”
I was so focused on my target, his chest, that I hadn’t been looking at his eyes.
I looked up.
The bloodlust was gone.
I breathed a sigh of relief and eased off on the trigger.
“Are you you?”
He nodded. “Yes. It’s over.” He looked at the empty bags. “Six. That’s a new record.”
I began to pick up the evidence, and shove them into my backpack. “You’re lucky. These were all I had.”
He stooped and picked up the last one, handing it to me. “Better pack eight next time.”
I took the bag and shoved it in the backpack, looking inside, then at him. “I think I’ll need a bigger bag.”
He stopped, cocking his head, raising his nose slightly. “We better get out of here. I can smell them.”
“This way,” I said, walking back to where I had parked my car.
“Run!”
I didn’t need to be asked twice, my mother’s voice echoing in my head. “When someone says ‘Run!’ you run! Don’t look around to ask why.” My heart pounded in my chest, my legs pumping me toward my little Mazda 3. I fished the key fob from my pocket, pressing the button. The car chirped, the lights flashed. I could hear footfalls behind us.
“Give me the Equalizer.”
I had never heard him call it that before. I smiled. Inwardly. I tossed it to him as I reached the driver side door. I yanked it open and dove in, shoving the key in the dash and pushing the button to start the car.
It was then that I looked up.
At least another dozen of those bloodsucking SOBs were racing toward us like a Zack Snyder zombie flick.
“Get in!” I yelled.
Zander emptied the Equalizer, taking out a few of them, as I reached over and shoved open the passenger door, putting the car in drive, my foot still on the brake. He tossed the Equalizer in the back seat and climbed in.
I hammered on the gas before he was even inside, racing straight at the bastards, knowing full well I had no time to turn around. I hit the first one doing about twenty and he bounced off the bumper, luckily not hard enough for the damned airbags to deploy.
The others just jumped at the car.
Zander pressed the central locking button, and reached into the backseat to grab the Equalizer.
“Ammo?”
“Left side of my jacket.”
He reached over, his arm brushing against my breasts, and my heart skipped a beat. Are you kidding me? I stared at the snarling mass occupying the hood, and mentally shook my head. Half a dozen bloodsucking vampires are attacking you and you’re getting turned on because he accidentally made contact?
He pulled the stakes from my jacket and shoved them in the top of our primary means of defense. My window shattered. I screamed, immediately embarrassed by my show of emotion, as I felt a viselike grip close around my neck.
I was doing at least sixty now down the deserted street, and jerked the car from side to side, trying to shake the few who were holding on. I checked the rearview mirror and saw a pair of feet pressed against the back window push off, then swing back in.
The window shattered, and with it, a body swung through.
Zander swung around, firing.
It burst into dust, the face disappearing only inches from my ear.
A fist burst through the windshield, the hand grasping for my face. Zander pressed the button for his window and shoved his upper body through the opening, dragging the Equalizer with him. Dust billowed through the hole in the windshield, but I closed my eyes in time.
The grip tightened on my throat, and I could feel myself beginning to black out as Zander turned to face our final attacker. Hurry up! Suddenly I saw Zander jerk back, the Equalizer almost falling out of his hand, our attacker on the roof obviously landing a blow.
Then a head and pair of shoulders poked down from the roof, her face mere inches from mine. I jerked the car to the left, crossing to the other side of the road, and jumped the driver’s side tires onto the sidewalk. I lined the car up, and floored it. Zander swung his arm back up to take aim, but it was too late.
“See you in Hell, bitch!”
She looked over her shoulder and her eyes shot open, the grip on my neck loosening as she tried to jump clear. I steered a little more to the left, the metal light post lined up perfectly.
And as quickly as she had leapt on my car, she was gone, the impact with the light post tearing her away from the car. I looked in the rearview mirror and could see her crumpled body lying beside the post.
And knew equally well she was still alive.
Zander climbed back in his seat and surveyed the damage.
“What’s your deductible for Vampire damage?”
EIGHT
Outside Kaba, Hungary
1722
The thirst was almost too much to bear. I could feel my broken body regain its strength, the pain almost gone. I stared at the lifeless body of my wife. Her eyes, dead, her skin, pale. Even her full head of hair, usually radiant, seemed devoid of life. I reached over and placed my hand on her stomach, feeling the slight bump.
Our first child.
And my hunger was momentarily forgotten.
I cried out and sobbed, my body shaking from my sorrow. My wife. My life. Gone. Our child, so difficult to produce, gone. We had tried for years, and finally had been blessed.
And now this.
I pushed myself up, off the trough they had thrown me on, and stood. I stretched, and could feel bones cracking, popping and snapping back into place. It was remarkable, the feeling of power, the feeling of strength.
It was intoxicating.
I sniffed the air, still filled with the smell of my wife’s blood, and looked at her. My eyes filled again with tears, but the hunger returned. With a vengeance. I doubled over in pain and fell to the ground, one hand tearing at my stomach, the other gripping the grass I now lay upon. Writhing in agony, I rolled over and spotted not one hundred paces distant our ox, who I had been working the fields with earlier. She had walked to the edge of the hill, still in her harness, and seemed to be looking down at me, as if wondering when we would resume our work.
I caught a whiff of her blood, a small cut somewhere on her, probably from a blister from the harness, providing just enough of a hint as to the treasure she possessed. My stomach growled. I jumped to my feet and raced across our yard, over our small fence and up the hill. I flew the last few feet through the air, arms outstretched, teeth bared, eyes afire.
And I terrified the poor thing. She dropped her head, her horns aimed at me, but I reached out and grabbed them as I made contact, twisting myself around the sharp appendages, and onto the back of the beast. I sunk my teeth in, and drank. She cried out in pain, trying to buck me off, but I had a grip on both horns now, and my teeth were deep. She bucked, then ran, charging across our small strip of farmland, the plow behind her flipping over, bouncing behind her. And I held on. And drank.
Within minutes I could feel the hunger beginning to fade. And so did the strength of our faithful companion. She stumbled, her forelegs giving out, then her hind. She dropped, then rolled to her side, my death grip still embedded in her neck. I could feel her mighty chest heave, slower and slower, as the last of the life of the poor creature was consumed, and finally, with a snort, her head dropped on the ground, her life force drained.
And I continued to feed.
I drank until I could drink no more, then rolled off her, the hunger satiated for the moment. I lay beside this loyal creature that had served us so well, and as I realized what I had done, turned over and vomited, her precious life giving fluid spewing onto the landscape. I rose to my knees and wiped my mouth off, staring at the gift my parents had given us on our wedding day.
&
nbsp; Strength to plow.
Milk to drink.
Dung to burn and provide warmth.
And meat to feed us, should we need it.
But blood? Blood to feed. Feed what? What had I become?
A vampire?
I looked up at the heavens and cried out. Why had this happened? Why had this happened to me? Why had this happened to us? What had we done to deserve this fate?
I slammed my fists into the ground, pounding it until I had no strength left. I sat there, my chest heaving as I gasped for breath, then rose. I walked slowly down the hill, through the gate and over to my wife. I picked her up and carried her to the porch, laying her gently on a bench I had finished building just last week. I then took a shovel, went to the back of the house, and began to dig near the tree we had planted when we first moved in.
Shovelful after shovelful, the pile of dirt growing rapidly, my heart beginning to race again as I could feel the hunger start to return. I had to finish before I lost control again. It didn’t take long, my newfound strength making quick work of the soil, and I retrieved the body of my beloved. I placed her beside the freshly dug hole, then ran into the house, looking for something suitable for a casket. My eyes settled on the long chest at the foot of our bed. I tipped it over, emptying the few symbols of the hopes and dreams of my beloved on the floor, then began to carry it outside. I stopped and looked at the scattered items. I returned, tossed them back into the chest, then ran outside as I could feel the little control I had begin to slip. I lowered the chest into the hole, jumped inside, then lifted her body, gently placing it inside the chest, having to twist her legs at the hips, and bend her knees to get her to fit.
I had to hurry. The hunger was growing, and there was no time.
I kissed her forehead, and filling my fingers with her hair, breathed her scent in one last time. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I crossed her arms over her chest, her dress still soaked in her own blood, and closed the lid of the chest. I leapt from the grave, my stomach growling with the hunger I thought just satisfied. As I pushed the dirt into the hole, my chest heaved with sobs as the love of my life, the mother of my future child, and the woman I had sworn to stand by until death did us part, disappeared under the very soil I had toiled over for years.
Finished, I jammed the hilt of the shovel in the ground, said a quiet prayer on my knees, my hands clasped in front of my chest, then, the hunger overwhelming, rose to the sound of my neighbor calling from his nearby farm.
My stomach roared, and I set off across the grass, racing toward him at a speed no human could match, and as I neared, I could see the fear build in his eyes. He turned to run away as I leapt through the air.
God forgive me.
NINE
New York City
Present Day
I watched him on the couch, sleeping, restless again. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and I knew what he was dreaming about. Her. I felt a twinge of jealousy. Why am I jealous? He’s not my boyfriend. We could never be together. But maybe that was part of the attraction. He was painfully good looking. Tall, at least six feet. Slim, but not too skinny. I tried to fight my eyes from wandering over his body, but lost. He was in terrific shape, muscles in all the right places, but not freakishly muscular. His shirt was slightly untucked and I felt my heart skip a beat at the flash of his six pack his writhing form rewarded me with.
He cried out.
And it broke my heart. I knew I was never supposed to approach him like this. He could wake and if in his dream he were all vamped out, he might turn on whoever woke him in the few moments before he regained control. But I couldn’t let him suffer like that. His perfect memory made his dreams intensely real, and if it was a good dream, he seemed to sleep like a baby, but in my experience, those seemed few and far between.
I knocked loudly on the frame of the door. The old glass in the door rattled.
“Time to wake up!” I called.
His back jumped off the couch, his hands reaching forward, a snarl erupting from his lips. His head spun toward me, and I took a step back, ready to close the door I realized was entirely too flimsy to protect me.
“It’s me, Sydney. Wake up!”
His arms dropped, and the muscles in his face relaxed as that bloodlust that terrified me every time I saw it, faded from his eyes. He wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Sorry about that.”
I shrugged my shoulders. It wasn’t his fault, so there was no point in even acknowledging the apology. “Same dream again?”
He nodded as he swung his legs off the couch. “It’s the perfect memory that’s the worst part of this cursed affliction.”
I loved the way he talked. It was a mix of the old and the new. Sometimes it was cute the way he would take a phrase from old English, and in the same sentence, throw in a rap reference. Or something a greaser might have said from the fifties. He had lived through it all, and had been in his mid-twenties through it all, so to fit in, had been forced to learn the lingo of the day, the lingo spoken by those his age.
It all just made him so cool.
Settle down!
I could feel my heart racing again.
“I can control everything else, the hunger, the immortality. But it’s the damned memory. I can remember every horrible thing I’ve done, I can remember every horrible thing I’ve seen done.”
I stepped inside, the danger gone, and sat beside him, desperately wanting to reach out and give him a hug, but not trusting myself, not trusting that I would be able to stop from kissing him.
So I just sat there, hands in my lap, clasping and unclasping as I tried to figure out what to do with them.
“But you also get to remember all the happy times,” I offered.
He smiled and reached out, gripping both my hands in his huge hand, gently squeezing. I felt myself flush. “Never stop looking at the bright side, Syd. Sometimes it’s all that keeps us sane.”
I looked at him, his cheeks still stained with tears, and smiled. I could feel the muscles in my body shift, and I started to lean toward him, my eyes beginning to close.
Someone knocked on the outer door, then walked in without waiting for an answer. I jumped to my feet, scurrying across the floor, thankful for whoever had interrupted the moment, and prayed he hadn’t noticed what I had been about to do.
I stepped into the outer office, closing the door behind me, and found a woman, dolled up as if from the roaring twenties. Brim hat, replete with veil, pulled low. Sunglasses, large, still on. High collar, turned up. Silk scarf, wrapped around her neck, under the collar.
Someone just might think she didn’t want to be recognized.
“Well, it’s about time. I don’t know what kind of operation you’re running around here, but I’m not accustomed to being kept waiting, missy.”
I wondered what Zander would say if I tore her throat out. I eyed the closet with the Equalizer in it.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m Zander Smith. How can we help you?”
I looked over my shoulder at Zander, the door having silently opened behind me.
The woman took in a sharp breath. I looked at her and smiled. On the inside. I recognized steaming thighs when I saw them. I looked back at Zander and wondered if he had any idea the effect he had on women.
He extended his hand as he approached the pile of attitude and perfume. She extended her hand and he took it by the fingers, flipping her wrist up and bending over, giving her hand a slight kiss. He let go, and her hand jumped to her chest.
“Oh my, aren’t we the gentleman.” He bowed slightly.
Laying it on a little thick aren’t we?
“Please, come into my office and tell me how we can help you today.”
He extended his arm, and she stepped into his office. He gave me a look, rolling his eyes. I stifled a giggle and grabbed my iPad, following them in.
TEN
She was well dressed. Well bejeweled. There was definitely money sitting here in front of me. She crossed her leg, her
skirt riding up high, higher than was probably necessary, but I think she was doing it for my benefit. I always had to remind myself how young I looked.
She was about forty. And quite attractive, there was no denying that. The best body money could buy I would guess. Those C-cups weren’t sitting naturally for a woman her age. And it looked like a little Botox had been injected in that forehead, and a little collagen in those lips.
Overall the effect was quite stunning, if not natural.
And it did nothing for me. She wasn’t my Kristyna, nor was she my type. I preferred women who possessed a natural beauty, which in my opinion, came from the inside, not the outside. All women were beautiful if they were beautiful inside. It showed. They had a glow about them once they set it free. Having lived as long as I had, I had seen all the fads, and this obsession with perfection didn’t come along until the cinema was invented. Then millions of people saw these beautiful actresses. Men wanted to be with them, women wanted to be like them.
It was pathetic.
Teenage girls were knocking themselves out to look like Katy, but even Katy didn’t look like Katy. The artificial face put before the world was blown away once her now ex-husband Tweeted a photo of her in the morning as she woke up.
Why would he do that? To embarrass her? No. It was because he thought she was beautiful the way she was and wanted to share with the world how lucky he was.
Apparently she didn’t agree.
And I was guessing this woman in front of me was like Katy. I bet she didn’t let anyone in the household see her before her morning ritual, and never went outside without looking her best, even if it were to just pick up the newspaper from the doorstep.
Twenty thousand in body work, fifty grand in jewelry easily, and the latest fashions. She could be my meal ticket for the next little while if I played it right. She’d be pretty damned shocked if she only knew what kind of meal that was.
“How can I help you, Miss—”
Turned (Zander Vargar Vampire Detective, Book #1) Page 7
