by B. J. McCall
“We can’t disappoint Andre, can we?”
“You know I can’t afford to offend him.”
“Fine, tomorrow night.”
“Great. I’ll save the whole night just for you.”
She wouldn’t need the whole night to say what she had to say. “Sure, see you then.”
“Good night, Kela, baby.”
Roland disconnected. Kela set her phone on the bedside table and removed her engagement ring. She dropped the ring on the table and turned off the light.
Sleep wouldn’t come. She reached out and touched the empty spot where Roland had once slept. Her eyes filled with tears. It was over. Her dreams of home, husband and family were gone.
Kela sat up and turned on the light. Now that she’d made the decision, she wanted a clean break. She needed to get on with her life.
She pulled off her pajamas and threw on her clothes. Shoving the diamond ring into the pocket of her jeans, she grabbed her phone and looked up the club’s address.
An hour later, Kela pulled into the rear parking lot of the Devil’s Warehouse. The old building was in the theater district and had been part of a city renovation project. She parked and started to get out, but decided against a public breakup. What she had to say to Roland was private and personal. Right now the last person she wanted to see was Andre.
Kela watched the back door, but no one came or went. She picked up her phone to call Roland to ask him to come outside. A few minutes was all she needed.
The back door of the club opened and Roland appeared. His arm was around a pretty young woman with long, dark hair, wearing a very short dress. The two were all over each other, kissing and touching.
The scene unfolding hurt, confirming she’d made the right decision.
Roland pulled up the woman’s dress and backed her against the side of a luxury sedan.
Kela gripped the wheel, watching as Roland unzipped his pants. He thrust his hips, taking the woman aggressively. Then he buried his face in the crook of the woman’s neck.
Angry, Kela got out of her vehicle. She was damn well going to make sure he knew she had caught him in the act. “Roland.”
He didn’t respond.
Kela pulled the ring out of her pocket and strode toward him. “Roland!”
He raised his head and fumbled with the front of his pants. The woman went limp, her arms flopping to her sides. Roland turned toward Kela and the light caught his face. His eyes were red and dark liquid ran down his chin. He pulled back his lips, revealing long, white fangs.
“What the hell.”
Roland opened the door of the sedan and dumped the young woman onto the passenger seat.
He straightened and looked at Kela.
Her mouth went dry. Her heart hammered and her stomach clenched. Oh God. Is that blood on his face?
Her instinct was to run, but her mind refused to accept the red on his chin was blood.
Roland stepped toward her. Kela jumped back, her cross catching the light and flashing red.
Hissing and displaying his fangs, Roland retreated.
Shocked, she watched him as he slid into the driver’s seat and drove away.
The diamond ring slipped from Kela’s fingers. She blinked, took a deep breath then ran to her SUV and locked the doors. She wailed, a cry tearing from deep within her.
What she’d just seen was impossible. Vampires didn’t exist.
* * * * *
Kela awoke the next morning with a start, the scene from last night flooding her mind. The blood. The fangs. Was it just a bad dream?
She’d fallen asleep on the sofa, fully dressed with her laptop resting on her thighs. It wasn’t a dream, but it couldn’t be real. She’d stayed up until the wee hours looking up vampires.
Pale skin, pointed nails and fangs. Roland fit the description, but vampires were fictional creatures invented by storytellers.
There had to be an explanation for the blood on Roland’s mouth and chin.
She carried her laptop to the kitchen table, filled the coffeemaker and turned on the television to distract her from the horrific images in her head. Listening to the weather and the traffic report was normal and soothing.
“Breaking news. A young woman’s body was discovered in Lakeview Park by an early morning jogger.”
Chills ran down Kela’s spine. Oh God, it can’t be.
“The victim has been identified as Mary Stone, a community college student.”
Kela’s heart lurched. The photo on the screen was the woman she’d seen with Roland.
“The police are asking for the public’s help to find the person responsible. Mary Stone was only twenty-two years of age.”
A hotline number flashed on the screen.
Her legs wobbly, Kela grabbed a kitchen chair and sat down. Bile rose in her throat. She lowered her head between her legs and sucked in several deeps breaths. She had to call the cops.
She pushed to her feet and grabbed the receiver off the charging station on the counter. Sucking in a breath, she dialed. The moment the call connected, Kela blurted out, “I know who did it.”
“You know who murdered Mary Stone?”
“Yes, I saw her last night at the Devil’s Warehouse. In the parking lot.”
“I need your name.”
Kela gave it. “Roland Chabeau was with Mary last night. We’re engaged. I went to the club to break it off. I saw them together in the parking lot.”
“Stay on the line. I’m connecting you with a detective.”
Kela grabbed her coffee and gulped down half the cup.
“Miss Lance, this is Detective Anderson. Can you tell me about last night?”
Words tumbled out. She told the detective about seeing Roland with Mary, about watching them have sex. “When he lifted his head, I saw the blood and I saw his fangs.”
“Did you say fangs?”
“He has fangs. Roland Chabeau is a vampire.”
“Your fiancé is a vampire?”
“Yes. I know it sounds crazy, but he had blood all over his mouth and chin.”
“You observed your fiancé having sex with the victim. Then you saw his vampire fangs?”
“Yes.”
“Miss Lance, the county has facilities to help you. Sometimes breakups can be difficult. I can give you the number for the county psychiatric helpline. There are qualified people who can help you.”
“Roland killed that girl. You don’t have to believe me, but please, Detective Anderson, check him out.”
“Of course, Miss Lance. May I connect you with the county psychiatric helpline?”
Kela hung up. The detective didn’t believe her. No one would believe her. She grabbed the cross with a trembling hand. “Oh God, help me.”
An odd feeling of calm came over her. If the cops wouldn’t stop Roland, she had to do it.
Kela turned on her laptop and typed—how to kill a vampire.
* * * * *
Wooden stake in hand, Kela slipped into the alley. Dim lights glowed above the delivery doors of Patrick’s Tavern on the left and Pyramid Pizza to the right. Her back hugging the wall and her footfalls silent on the cracked asphalt, Kela stepped deeper into the gloomy urban canyon. She wrinkled her nose, the cloying scent of Hot Blood beating out the competing stench of urine. Her quarry was close.
She’d been hunting Roland, but his cell phone was disconnected and he’d never answered his doorbell. She’d staked out Karr’s building every night, all night for three weeks. Tonight, she’d spotted him.
He’d walked out of Karr’s building and had driven away in a fancy foreign car. Kela had followed him to this section of the city close to the community college. He’d parked and disappeared. Fearing he was trolling for a victim, Kela had walked around until she caught sight of him ducking into an alley with the blonde. Finally, she had him cornered.
He stood deep in the shadows, his dark clothing barely discernible against the building. Hissing, Roland lifted his head. His victim, a pale-ski
nned female with long blonde hair, hung like a rag doll, her neck held in his powerful left hand.
Blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, he turned and focused on Kela. Looking into his fiendish eyes, she trembled.
“I grow weary of you, Kela.”
“You must be stopped.”
He laughed, a soft rumble she’d once found enchanting. “By you? I doubt it.”
To the unsuspecting, Roland was a fit thirty-year old man, with long brown hair, piercing dark eyes and a killer smile that revealed nothing of the malevolence residing in his heart. The man she’d loved was dead and all that was left was a handsome, evil shell.
“Is she dead?”
Roland released the blonde, letting her drop to the asphalt. “Fucked well and drained dry.”
His cold words and his cruel action sent a shiver down Kela’s spine. She hadn’t been drawn into Andre Karr’s lifestyle of kink and fetish, but Roland and Jenna had embraced it.
“You’re responsible for Jenna. She was our friend.”
“Jenna liked it. Bondage was her thing.”
“He killed her. You let him.”
“She got off on pain. Andre satisfied her needs. She begged for more, right to the very end.”
Had he witnessed her death? Participated? “Damn you, Roland.”
“Don’t call me that. Roland is dead. Chabeau lives.”
Kela tightened her grip on the wooden stake. “Fuck you, Roland.”
“Put down that stake, Kela. Join me. We were good together.”
“There’s nothing good about the thing you’ve become. I know what you are and you have to be stopped.”
“You know nothing.”
Gripping the wooden stake in her right hand, Kela stepped forward. “Last night, another college student was found dead, drained of blood. You killed her.”
Roland straightened the cuffs of his long-sleeved black shirt. “Which girl? You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Her name was Heather.”
He shrugged a shoulder, a nonchalant action that burned Kela’s blood.
She moved closer. “You don’t know their names, do you? You fuck them, suck them dry and dump them as if they were garbage.”
“You don’t look well, Kela. You used to be so plump and rosy. Sexy.”
Ignoring his comment about the pounds she’d shed, Kela stepped toward him. “You once respected life. Now you kill without remorse.”
He glanced at the stake in her hand. “Both of us have changed.”
Kela had quit her accounting job and focused her energy on stopping Roland. “I don’t relish doing what’s necessary. You kill for pleasure.”
Roland’s lips twisted in a cruel smile. “And here you are all alone.”
A trickle of doubt swirled in Kela’s brain. Had she finally cornered Roland or had he drawn her here? Forty feet behind her was the street, but now the clubs were closed and the late-night traffic was dwindling. If she tried to run, he’d take her down in seconds. Kela had no choice but to stand and fight.
She touched the silver cross hanging around her neck, stroking the ruby at its center. The ruby flashed and a sense of purpose, perhaps righteousness, swelled in her chest.
Dangling the cross, Kela edged closer to Roland. One deep strike to the heart and the horror would end.
Roland flinched, his eyes flashing red. “Take that thing off.”
“Never.” She lifted the wooden stake.
Roland hissed, the sound a cruel reminder of the thing he’d become. “You still love me. You can’t destroy me.”
Attacking, Kela lunged forward. Roland leaped to one side, taking a glancing blow to his shoulder. She pulled another sharp stake from the holster on her belt and prepared to strike again.
“Drop the weapons, Kela, and join me.”
“Go to hell.”
His eyes turned a darker red. “I’ve seen hell. It’s exhilarating.”
Aiming for his heart, she launched a second attack.
Roland dodged the assault. “I’m too quick for you, Kela. Always was, always will be.”
Kela feared he spoke the truth, but she had to stop him. Too many young women had died.
She lunged again, missing with the stake in her right hand, but tearing through his sleeve with the stake in her left. He’d easily deflected her blows.
“I’m getting stronger,” he said. “The day will come when that fancy cross won’t protect you.”
“Today’s not that day,” she said, taking a jab at him.
He feinted to the left, avoiding the pointed end of the stake. “One day I will possess you and your cross.”
“Then what will you do? Kill me?”
“Eventually, after I fuck you. You liked it, remember?”
Kela adjusted the angle of her stakes. “That was when you were a human.”
“Take off the cross, Kela. Come to me.” He stroked the front of his pants. “You’ll like it more than ever.”
“Is a massive ego a side effect of drinking blood?” she asked, thrusting out with her right and jabbing with the left.
Roland jumped backward, the pointed stakes barely missing him. “Catch me if you can,” he said, circling around her.
Kela spun on her heel and froze.
Oh crap!
Roland had positioned himself between her and the street. Standing behind him were a dozen young females with fangs protruding from their blood-red mouths. Ghostly pale, the women wore short dresses that clung to their bodies and emphasized their cleavage. Roland had always favored women with flesh on their bones—now he liked them dead and full figured.
“Take off the cross and no harm will come to you.”
Trapped, Kela planted her feet. “Never. I’d rather burn you.”
Roland pulled back his lips, displaying his fangs. “Meet my sweet darlings. My creations.”
Kela’s heart twisted. He’d created them, destroyed their souls and turned them into these hideous creatures.
“The cross,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Bring it to me.”
The women hissed and snarled, baring their fangs. He’d set her up.
The vampires lunged at Kela. Using both stakes she slashed, striking arms and lacerating hands. Their attack came in waves of four. Wounded, the first group retreated. Hissing, the second group flew at Kela. One grabbed her cross and shrieked, releasing it as black smoke streamed from her hand.
Despite the gashes and cuts Kela inflicted, Roland’s creations continued their assault. Arms burning with fatigue, Kela backed farther into the alley. Long, claw-like fingernails slashed out, ripping at her leather jacket. In the mayhem, Roland had vanished. Why hadn’t he stayed and finished her off?
Kela stabbed and jabbed, forcing two vampires to retreat. As quickly as the attack had begun, it stopped. As if on cue the vampires lifted their heads and sniffed the air. The vampires ran toward the street, then shrieked at the top of their lungs.
A head flew across the alley and smashed into the wall. Another head tumbled through the air, hit and bounced over the asphalt. A man with long, black hair, dressed in a black vest and black pants, holding a thin-bladed sword waded through the group of screeching vampires.
The remaining vampires split apart, slinking back against the walls, their fear of the sword-wielding man palpable. Leaving their fallen sisters behind, the vampires scrambled up the walls of the alley and disappeared over the rooftops.
The stranger turned toward Kela.
The path to the street blocked, fear spiked through her. Despite the adrenaline rush, she was no match for this guy. Raising the wooden stakes, Kela prepared for his attack. At least she’d go down fighting.
* * * * *
Sheathing his weapon, Ansara gave his full attention to the wild-eyed female. Her fighting skills were rudimentary, but the Earth woman had fought bravely and appeared to have survived the attack without being bitten.
“Back off.”
Hands clenched around sharp
wooden stakes, the slender woman held them in front of her chest. Although she posed no serious threat, Ansara stopped short of her striking range. “I’m here to help you.”
A short crop of honey-colored curls framed a delicate face that belied the woman’s fierce expression. “I don’t need any help.”
Letting that fallacy pass, Ansara glanced at the blonde female crumpled on the asphalt a few feet away. “What about her?”
The neophyte fighter looked at the fallen woman and whispered, “Forgive me.” She pressed the back of her gloved hand against her mouth and gagged.
“What’s your name?”
“Kela. Kela Lance.”
Since Kela hadn’t lowered her weapons, Ansara wasn’t about to turn his back on her. “Step aside.”
When Kela skittered away, something glinted on her chest. A cross? Ansara’s breath caught. Not just any cross, but a Thasian cross. The intricate design and blood crystal at the center were unmistakable.
That explained the urgency of his mission and the reason for the strength-sucking, back-to-back celestial jumps he’d made to get here. How had the Earth woman obtained a warrior’s cross?
“Is she dead?”
Ansara kneeled next to the blonde. She had multiple wounds on her neck and wrists. He pulled down the straps of her dress and looked at her full breasts. Both bore bruises and deep puncture wounds close to her nipples. A vampire had viciously fed upon the young woman. He placed his palm on her chest. Her heart had stopped and her skin was already cold.
“She’s dead.” Ansara turned toward Kela and reached out his hand, palm open. “Give me a stake.”
Kela stared at the victim. “How could Roland do this?”
Ansara wasn’t sure who Roland was, but time was of the essence. The young woman hadn’t turned yet. Instead of severing the blonde’s head from her body, a stake to the heart would suffice. “If she rises, she’ll be like the pack that attacked you. Is that what you want?”
Stakes still clenched in her fists, Kela shook her head.
“You’re a hunter. You know what must be done. Hand me a stake.”
Kela tossed the stake. Ansara caught it and drove the point deep into the blonde’s chest, straight into her heart. The young woman had suffered a terrible death and she deserved to rest in peace.
