Romance with a Bite

by Tamsin Baker

  The vamp grabs my throat and squeezes.

  I want you dead, monster. I want you both dead. I can’t speak out loud, not with his grip tightening around my neck until my eyes feel as if they’re about to pop out of my head. The hum in my ears grows, overtaking all other noise.

  It sounds like my bees, but that can’t be right. It’s night time and they’re safely tucked up in their hives. Red tinges my vision and everything begins to blur. No oxygen. Can’t…breathe.

  Somehow, I manage to flex one of my wrists, the only part of my arm I can move, and jab into the vamp’s thigh with the knife. It isn’t much, but in this pinned-down state, it’s the only action I can take. The tip of the silver blade is super-sharp and pierces the monster’s skin deeply enough to elicit a squeal. It won’t stop him for long, but the grip on my throat eases and the weight on my chest disappears. I roll away as quickly as I can and stumble to my feet, coughing and spluttering and trying to get my crushed throat to work properly.

  The titter of crazed laughter when I raise my piddly weapons in front of me generates a shiver down my spine. They’re enjoying the chase, clearly feeding on my fear. They circle me, one moving clockwise, the other anti-clockwise. I pivot, unable to keep them both in view at the same time. I’m their prey, and my time is just about up. Which of them will get me first? Will they rip me in half and share the spoils?

  Two things then happen simultaneously.

  There’s a blur of movement to my right and Luc erupts out of the trees and launches into an almighty leap over the heads of the rogues. He lands neatly beside me, his snarls rivalling those of the monsters.

  And my body hunches over as the first signs of death begin to call. No! No, no, no, no. Not tonight, not now, and not this way.

  My wail rises, as stifled as always but even more so from the damage the vamp inflicted on my neck. Luc cocks his head and I realize, despite my destroyed throat, he can hear the banshee call. This time, someone hears me. The agonizing sob breaks free and I begin to wail in earnest but there’s no time or space to sink into the sadness as a whole wall of pale flesh and fur, fangs and fetid breath is upon us.

  The vamp dives onto Luc, somewhere off to the side. The other, the one that played the watching game up to now, lands in a huge leap right on top of me. His front paws are the size of dinner plates and I have no chance against the force of his attack. I topple backward and he lands heavily on my chest. Not even being winded twice in the space a few minutes can stop the call of the banshee. It’s my other, fed by fae magic, and something completely separate to whatever it is that gives me voice and breath.

  Saliva dribbles from his maw down onto my face and he leans in close and sniffs. For a second or two I wonder if I can reason with him. Most weres aren’t like this. Most weres are as reasonable as any other supe. What made him turn into a monster? Then I stare deep into his eyes and know there’s no reason left. This close I can’t avoid the calculated madness behind those terrifying purple-red flames of rage.

  Unlike the vamp, the were stinks. I nearly hurl from the stench of rot that emanates from his mouth, and from sheer terror at the thought that I’m about to get my throat ripped out.

  “Your name, hybrid?”

  With effort I control the wail long enough to answer. “Fuck off, puppy dog.”

  His growl turns to an enraged roar, signaling the end, and I grin defiantly up into his face even as my death wail recommences.

  I’m singing my own death. Am I singing my own death?

  His jaw opens and snaps shut on my neck just as I raise my arm and stab the knife directly into his eye. It slides in easily, and I wonder if Luc will be proud of me. A whole blade of silver, right to the hilt. And I held the knife just the way he showed me.

  One advantage of being considered easy prey is that your enemies often underestimate you.

  Shock colors his furry expression and I scream for him as he dies right there on top of me. His suddenly limp body collapses completely onto mine and he’s so heavy I can barely breathe, let alone move. And yet still the banshee call goes on. There’s something very wrong, though. I’m crying and wailing, wracked with pain and sadness, but no sound emerges at all.

  I really can’t catch my breath. Panic floods through me. I can’t breathe at all. Instead I try a gasp but it’s light and gurgly. I’m choking on blood—my blood—and more tears fall when I realize the death call is a double one.

  I guess banshees can sing their own impending death.

  He tore open my neck before he died, and I’m choking on my own blood. Sorrow builds for the future life I’ll never live, for lost chances, unrequited love, unfulfilled goals and achievements. I will never find out what might have been between Luc and me. I will never have the opportunity to build a life with someone I love by my side. I will die alone, as I’ve lived alone most of my life. I will never know what it is to truly love and be loved.

  The banshee call builds to unbearable agony in my chest. With my throat almost completely blocked, there’s nowhere for the banshee cry to escape. I’m surrounded by death, covered by it, literally with this furry carcass, and now I begin to drown.

  I’m drowning in your life force, Luc.

  I turn my head to the side and watch him fight, wishing I could go to his aid. Luc is faster than the rogue, by a long shot, but the crazed one is driven by something more powerful even than Luc. A purplish aura surrounds them. Is that my vision failing, or is it the shadow of whatever magics are providing strength to this loup and the seemingly endless stream of others?

  A vague memory surfaces from my childhood. Me, skipping down the street toward the park and reaching out toward an old man lying on one of the park benches near the swing. Purple. He looks so pretty all coated in purple. My father snatching me up and whisking me back home. Never touch the purple, Aleah. Purple is bad magic. Necromancer magic.

  The purple is always something to steer clear of. And now its seedy miasma begins to swallow Luc.

  I drift toward unconsciousness. It becomes harder to keep my eyes open. Luc is still a blur of movement, and I think maybe one of them is down. Oh my God, it’s Luc. Not you. Not you too. Please.

  Help him.

  In the murky dark amidst the depths of the banshee death agony, I start to hallucinate. A swarm of bees rises up out of the forest and heads toward me. The humming sound in my ears increases. It can’t be my bees. It’s night time. My beautiful creatures, come to say goodbye, at least in my imagination. I smile at the swarm, even though I know it isn’t real. Save him. Save Luc. Too late for me…

  I try with one last effort to heave off the carcass in an attempt to do something…anything…to help. At least it won’t get Laura or Davey.

  Random thoughts…

  Now the were is dead, the vamp won’t be able to get in the house.

  Fading…

  Hey, vamp monster, look over here. Look at me. Let Luc defeat you while you’re distracted.

  Instead, the darkness grows, and at the last, before it takes me completely, I realize death is not so bad, after all. There’s a growing warmth, a sinking feeling, and then…nothing.

  Chapter Seven

  Luc

  She’s dead. They killed her. They killed her before I had the chance to explain and beg forgiveness. I can’t believe she’s gone. Aleah. Don’t be gone. I need you alive.

  The loup is on me. His rabid strength is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced in a vamp. He’s readying for the death bite and I have one last chance to do this. I lay still, gather my strength, drawing upon every ounce I have. Everything I am, everything I was, and everything I might yet be, coalesces into this one, single, moment of truth.

  “You have no idea who you’re up against. Join our cause, and I can promise you power beyond your wildest dreams.” It may be the rogue speaking, but the voice isn’t his. The authority emanating from the words feels ancient and strong, far older than this vamp will ever be.

  A purple haze obscures my visio
n and I blink, trying to retain my senses. “Who are you?”

  The rogue grins widely, baring his fangs at me. I snarl straight back at him. See? My fangs are bigger than your yellow, rotten teeth. “I am the one who will lead the restoration. Restore the balance of power to where it should be. Give us her true name, descendent of Dracule, and you will bask in the glory alongside the supreme ones.”

  Give us her name? My snarl intensifies as I continue to gather my strength. A strange buzzing in my ears deepens. It’s now or never. I take a breath to steady myself, timing my moment, readying to twist this fucker’s head right off his shoulders.

  And instead, my mouth drops open and I involuntarily freeze as a swarm of bees descends out of nowhere and coats every exposed inch of the rogue’s lily-white skin.

  His screech of rage and shock is suddenly cut off as more bees fly into his open mouth. I quickly snap mine shut, though they seem to be completely ignoring me and targeting only the rogue.

  Bee stings won’t kill him, of course, but this many in such a coordinated attack disable him long enough that I’m able to achieve the impossible.

  Aleah’s bees. She’s saving my life yet again.

  I switch off further thought and reach into the swarm, finding the loup’s ears and using them as leverage to twist violently with every bit of stored strength I have. The distraction of the bees does the trick. He has only just begun to claw at me when the head rips apart from the neck. It holds together when I’m done by a stubborn piece of the spinal column. With an extra yank I snap that too, then toss the head aside and roll the now sagging carcass off me. Bees continue to swarm all over it, the angry buzz so loud I can’t hear anything above the noise.

  There’s no time to consider why the swarm only targeted the rogue, and whether or not they’ll go after me next. I sprint to Aleah’s side and drop to my knees beside her. An involuntary moan escapes when I see the amount of blood that has already seeped into the ground. Her throat is a mess, her beautiful face so white she almost shines luminescent in the moonlight.

  She’s non-responsive, but as a vamp I feel her pulse still beating, even without having to reach out and search for it. It’s faint, but there. She’s still alive, albeit barely hanging on by a thread.

  I have no idea how to help her. No idea whether her fae blood will protect her from death.

  “Allie.” I touch her shoulder, dip my fingertip in the open flesh wound of her neck. She doesn’t stir. Her blood is calling to the vamp in me, desperately screaming, but I ignore the call. This is Aleah. The one I want to protect more than anyone in this world. And I’ve failed her. I’ve failed.

  “Aleah!” This time I yell her name into the breeze. When did she become so important to me? I’ve known her scant days, and yet, her death seems unthinkable. I can’t bear the thought of a world without her in it.

  A rush of latent energy washes over me and I jump instantly to my feet, standing over her broken body and growling. Threat. Who…?

  A tall faerie woman in a long, pale blue dress stands in the clearing, staring at us. She has the same hair and facial features as Allie, but there’s a cold, translucent quality about this woman that denotes full fae, and a powerful one, at that.

  “My daughter’s blood has been spilt. My blood.” She strides toward us, her mouth twisting as she stares down at Aleah. “What have you done this time, vampire? How many fae…how many humans…must die before the abominations are stopped?”

  I ignore her question and frantically ask my own. “Can you help her? Can you save her? Is it too late—”

  She kneels beside her daughter’s broken body and runs her hands over Allie from her head to her toes, stopping to dip her fingers into the blood that layers the ground around her neck. “Far too late, if she stays here even a minute longer. If I take her home with me—”

  “You mean, to the fae realm?”

  “Of course. If I don’t, I will shortly be singing in the death of my own child. I may still have to do that, regardless. Hurry.” She calls out loudly in a language I don’t understand, and out of a sudden silver mist another fae appears. A large man, in dark armor, who instantly bends and lifts Aleah into his arms. “Take her straight to my quarters, Tarrien, and commence without me. Go.”

  And just like that, Aleah is gone.

  The faerie woman straightens and meets my narrowed gaze with one of her own. “I recognize you, vampire. I know you were there at the death of my daughter’s father. Have you told her the role you played?”

  My heart lurches in shock. “Not yet. I planned to, though I haven’t had the chance—”

  “Now you never will. Farewell.”

  “Wait!” She has already turned away but perhaps she can hear real desperation in my tone because she pauses and briefly turns back to face me. “It—whatever it was—wanted her true name. It’s not Aleah, I take it?”

  Shock ripples across her features and the misty aura surrounding her briefly changes from silver to gray-green and back again. That got her attention, all right.

  “That is not her true name. Did she give it to them?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  Relief flares in her features. “Good.” Aleah’s mother clearly knows more than she’s letting on.

  “What’s going on? It was necromancer magic piloting that rogue. I saw the purple trace. It spoke to me. Something, or someone, is creating these abominations, as you call them. That much is clear. Who is it, and why do they need her name?”

  The banshee opens her mouth and closes it again. She appears to be considering how to answer. Finally, she says slowly, “You are correct. We believe there are a group of magical beings—a conclave—who wish to destroy the Accord. To do that fully, they need a banshee child’s true name.”

  “But why? Why a banshee? Why not any fae, or…or my name, for that matter?” I would gladly draw the danger toward me, if it would help save Aleah. Would have helped. Nausea threatens. Please let it not be too late for her.

  The fae shakes her head. “There is great power in any name, Luc Durand, but particularly that of a banshee. We are not like other fae. We carry the life and death of whole species in our hearts. A banshee’s true name in the wrong hands would unlock access to that darkness within us all. Even a hybrid…especially a hybrid…the addition of human blood amplifies the very thing that they are after.”

  “Why Aleah in particular?”

  “All my babies are at risk. But as to why her in particular… I believe that is on you, or at least, your Maker. Her father may have been chosen at random as a victim, but her cry was heard before the protector managed to blast her into silence to hide it.”

  “Wait. She has a protector? A fae protector?”

  “Had. I dismissed him after a couple of years when nothing seemed amiss.” She waves a casual hand. “And it is now on those of you remaining in this world to find who would seek the power, and ensure you destroy them, before they destroy everything you all appear to hold dear.”

  She disappears so quickly, even my vampiric eyesight doesn’t catch the exact moment she leaves. Now I have no way to know whether the beautiful woman who saved my life not once, but twice over, will even survive the night.

  Chapter Eight

  Aleah

  Warmth. Pillowy softness. Light. So much light, beating back the darkness. I open my eyes, confused for a moment. Am I dead? Is this heaven? Then a pale face with strong cheekbones and pointy ears appears in my vision and I jerk back and away from the stranger. Definitely not heaven.

  “She’s awake.”

  I blink and lift my head. I’m lying in a huge white bed with the softest and most comfortable mattress I’ve ever lain on. White netting drapes the four posts that lead up from the bed toward a ceiling somewhere far above. Presumably above, anyway. There appears to be no ceiling whatsoever, only a silver mist that provides a sense of comfort despite its apparent austerity. What the hell is this place?

  “Welcome home, Aleachiarsiwella
.” A woman’s melodic voice washes over me, instantly creating images in my mind of a dark-haired woman caressing my face and crooning over my cradle. Memories? A weird dream? Mother?

  I sit up so fast a wave of dizziness hits, and I close my eyes for a second until equilibrium returns. When I open them again, I meet the curious gaze of the faerie seated in a chair beside the bed. Definitely my mother. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is the woman who birthed me. It’s almost like staring into a mirror. Only, this mirror is a distorted one, where the reflection staring back at me is one thousand times more beautiful than the reality.

  “Hello, Mom.” Gut instinct tells me she’ll hate that term, and by the brief tightening of the skin around her eyes and her suddenly pursed lips, I know I’ve gotten it right.

  A slight guffaw emerges from the male fae standing a few feet behind her. He must be the one who was leaning over me when I woke. My mother turns and presumably glares at him because, after a brief moment where he narrows his eyes and glares back at her, he starts to back away slowly. I note his hand lifts to hide a persistent grin.

  “So good to see you again after all these years.” I can’t seem to stop the hearty tone. There’s so much emotion roiling around inside me that I don’t quite know how to process it. I died. Or so I thought. And now I’m not dead. And my mother, who I haven’t seen in forever, is sitting here staring at me as if I have two heads.

  Again, her lips purse, but her negative reaction is brief. Annoyance makes way for apparent delight. “My darling, Aleachiarsiwella. So happy we could bring you home at last and bring you back to the land of the living with our healing.”

  “It’s Aleah, these days. Remember?” Now let’s see who can purse their lips the most out of the two of us.

  “Of course. But—”

  “Wait. Did you say…” Heal? Oh, my God. The memories come rushing back in. The crazed vamp. Luc fighting for his life. The yawning, stinky maw of that shifter…blood…darkness…the agony of death…

  I clutch at my throat, running my fingers up and down the flesh, searching for imperfection. Nothing. It feels completely normal. “What the actual heck?”