THE VAMPIRE’S RELEASE
Book Four of the Undead in Brown County Series
By S.J. Wright
This book is dedicated to my sons.
Your smiles, laughter and hugs bring me such joy.
I adore you both so much.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or events is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2012 by Stephanie J. Wright
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
PROLOGUE
June 29, 1952
The whiskey blurs out real life nicely. The burn as it goes down is nothing anymore to me. Claire has said that she’ll find every one of my hidden bottles. She couldn’t. I don’t even know where they are. I don’t know where they come from most of the time. I think the god-damned vampires are behind the whole thing. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t want the stuff. I wouldn’t need it.
Little Robby found a loose fang in the north meadow yesterday. I told him it was probably from a coyote. The kid looked at me like I was a liar. He’s a sharp one. I hate that he will have to fool with all this when I’m gone. That’s the biggest reason I started writing in this journal. When I finally keel over, I hope all these damned vampires are gone. But if not, Robby’s going to need to know.
The new one, Michael, is a different sort. He hates my guts and never lets me forget it. And he’s angry at the Council for putting him away. Now that I know why they did it, I’m always telling Claire to head into the house early. I don’t need him creating vampire freaks out of my family.
- From the Journal of Jonathan Wood
Chapter 1 – Michael
There was a part of me that realized I had succeeded, even though my ancient body struggled against death and afforded me little in the way of physical relief from the torture. After having so much of my blood drained from my veins by doctors bent on replicating its properties, the agony of going without was becoming familiar.
I was cold. I realized vaguely that I had been cold for a long time. But I had never physically felt it as sharply as I did in that horrible little room. The instinct that humans have to shiver is not present in vampires. So I lay there in that bed like a corpse, feeling the sensation of it as I never had before.
The walls of my prison were oddly comforting in a twisted sort of way. They were keeping me in what looked to be an old bedroom with yellow peeling wallpaper decorated in roses. Not just red roses, but pink, yellow, and white. They were a vague reminder of the morning I strolled through a decadent French garden with Amanda in 1933. I remembered how she had fretted so much over a few errant drops of blood that had spoiled her yellow morning dress after joining me for a warm red liquid breakfast. I had laughed at her vanity only after checking my own clothing for any spots.
We seemed made for each other, her and I. Two deadly pieces of forgotten humanity bent on flooding ourselves with pleasure, whether it was gorging ourselves on the blood of a Russian prince, playing in high-stakes card games against American heiresses or climbing to the summit of Mount Everest.
Of course, it was not all blind succulence. There were single seconds of that period in which I saw the truth of my immortal lover. She was unusually violent with her victims, often removing their heads from their shoulders immediately after having her fill. Whether she felt any real guilt over her excessive mutilations was unclear to me. Having her near was enough back then. I may have even felt a measure of admiration towards her daring ways.
In the end, my own fragile strands of morality held fast. One hard and fast rule I have adhered to since becoming undead was to never, ever hurt a child. I suppose there is some connection there to my own childhood, and I don’t doubt that a deep session with an open-minded psychotherapist would reveal much about that particular qualm, if I were willing to put myself through such a thing. But this rule of mine regarding children was not something that Amanda and I agreed on.
The first time I caught her trying to take the blood of an innocent boy, an inner rage consumed me that was so fierce; I temporarily forgot the love I had for my gorgeous redhead. She felt the sting of my teeth and felt the strength of my hands around her neck for the first time. It startled her, that intense emotional reaction. She saw something in me during that moment that frightened her, and it had nothing to do with my physical strength or speed. She seemed to recognize the fierce light in my eyes. Perhaps it was familiar due to someone in her past that had held firm to some belief that didn’t coincide with her own lack of humanity.
It changed our relationship, creating doubt and distrust where before there had only been adrenalin and mutual satisfaction. The boy she’d been feeding from survived. Barely. I was more cautious after that incident and began to spend more time away from Amanda. She adapted to the change, drawing away from me long enough to cause me to worry and then returning like a beautiful bird to whichever dark place I’d taken myself.
My disillusionment with her grew and festered like a boil, the infection spreading and hardening me against her numerous charms until the only positive things we had left were memories of our early days together. Such as the rose garden in Paris.
I should have known it would come to that sort of an end. I did know. Jones had spared not a single chilling detail about how Amanda had tortured him. At the end of our affair, I wouldn’t hesitate to throw accusations her way and remind her of the Captain, whose memory she looked on with measured indifference. Maybe if I could have penetrated or possibly cracked the protective walls she’d built around herself, I might have discovered the source of her anger. But then everything began to go wrong with the Council. The monstrous head of politics rose up, creating a shadow of everything else in my world.
Isaiah was fortifying his league of minions and whispering lies into the ears of the other Council members. It was enough of a political push to have them all begin to doubt me and whether or not I had the ability and moral fortitude necessary to rule.
I was supposed to be a monarch of sorts over the undead in America. It had been Teddy’s idea. She had always had more faith in me than sanity should dictate. She intended me to rise to the challenge, exercise my powers, rule with fair judgment and a moral stance that few of my kind possessed. I often wondered what facet of my personality might have given her that impression. Perhaps she had heard somehow of my intense need to protect children and assumed that attribute would extend to my night-dwelling brethren.
Vincent and Gregory, the two eldest brothers had been warring with one another for centuries behind the scenes. They had agreed reluctantly to my future reign. In public conferences, they were coolly polite and sometimes remarkably civil to each other. What my spies discovered was that during these high-brow Council meetings, the vampires and humans hired by Vincent and Gregory were conducting their own operations of which the Council had no idea. It ended up being a series of attempts to gain power over human leaders through threats, bribery and cold-blooded murder. All these things were done to humans in power in order to influence the eventual influx of vampires into American politics.
It
was a sad ploy that ended quickly once the rest of the Council discovered what they were attempting to do. Gregory was reprimanded by the Council and removed from his seat. He retreated completely from our secretive society and from the country itself. The last rumor I’d heard about Gregory was passed to me through my contact in London. He had apparently taken control of a little country in the Mideast and was passing himself off as an Islamic holy man.
Vincent was able to convince them that he was only using his agents to counteract what Gregory’s had done and that he was protecting vampires everywhere by doing so. The Council took him at his word and let him remain in his place of power among us.
Isaiah had been content to remain in the background, presiding over the meetings when necessary and dolling out his moderate opinions when he was asked. Towards me, he was slightly deferential in these public venues. But I felt a hole in that public persona. He was holding something back from all of us.
Victoria came face to face with Isaiah for the first time after a meeting in New York City. As we were leaving the office building that had been the site of the meeting, he offered us both shelter at his private lakeside lodge in upstate New York. I recalled the unusual strength of Victoria’s nails pressing into the wool fibers of the sleeve of my coat. I remembered the way her graceful body suddenly went still and how wide her eyes grew in her pale face as the intentions and emotional turmoil of Isaiah were viewed through her particular gift of sight.
Politely, I declined the invitation. Isaiah had stared hard at Victoria for one moment, and I feared the possibility that he may have discerned the nature of her gift. We had done what we could up to that point to keep Victoria’s ability to read minds a secret from the other vampires. The only other one who knew was Meekah.
What Victoria felt from the elder vampire had pushed her into a terrifying silence. Only after many attempts and gentle prompts could I get her to reveal to me what she had felt in Isaiah’s presence. What was behind that bearded face and inside the brain of that creature was so dark and loaded with grisly images that Victoria had an incredibly hard time putting it into words.
Even now, I find it hard to confront the demonic intentions and memories as Victoria had explained them to me. The extremity of Isaiah’s desire for power was acutely alarming, and I felt compelled to explain it to Teddy. She had been a good friend and mentor to me over the centuries, and the trust between us was absolute. She wasn’t perfect, but I was unaware of any female who could make that claim honestly.
I certainly had enough troubling women in my life over the years. Meekah, Amanda, Victoria, Selena, Sarah and Katie. Each one was like a rose of a different hue. Just like on the wallpaper in that little room. I stared in particular at one set of yellow roses, which brought Sarah to the front of my mind immediately.
When she discovered I was alive, what sort of things might go through her head? Would she be able to move on as I had intended for her? Would Jackson be what she really needed? If I were able to escape from this somehow, would she be happy to see me? These were all questions that I had no answers for and little right to ask. I certainly didn’t have anyone with me who was trustworthy enough to settle these inquiries upon.
I was left to ponder these things alone, in that little damp bedroom with the rose wallpaper. With chains constructed of pure silver winding around each of my limbs, leaving me physically powerless to escape from the bed to which they had me tethered. With no blood, no phone, it seemed that I had very little left to lose.
Until the door to my room opened with a low groan and a very familiar, very beautiful female vampire with red hair entered my cell, admiring my position with slanting blue eyes.
“Well, my goodness. Look at you.”
Her movements were feline, calculated and slow as she crossed towards the only window in the room. Unfortunately for me, it afforded little in the way of a view. Years ago it had been boarded over. Once Isaiah had me installed there, he stated bluntly that the sun would never pass through that one window. It was a warning as much as a declaration of fact. It wasn’t hard to understand his meaning. He intended that I should never leave that room again.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” I ground out between my teeth, straining weakly against the silver chains.
Amanda moved her eyes impassively over the conditions I’d been forced to live in and tipped her sharp chin towards me. “I thought you should know that Sarah Wood is pining away for you like the simple Indiana girl she has proved herself to be.”
Sarah. I drew a sharp breath before thinking. Her name still had that kind of effect on me. Amanda had been expecting such a reaction. As I should have realized she would.
“Indeed?” My voice carried across the room with a distinct echo.
Her smile was edgy. The glistening pale pink of her lipstick was muted against the brightness of her teeth. “You’re not fooling anyone here, darling. Every immortal in the new world has heard the colorful tale of Michael Graviano and the farm girl.” Moving closer, she reached into the stylish bag on her shoulder and drew out a small amber bottle filled with blood. There was no mistaking the scent of it.
“What do you want?” I asked.
She shrugged sadly and popped the top off the bottle, drenching the entire room with the smell. I sagged against the bare mattress when the scent hit me.
“I’m here because Isaiah thinks I’m working with him.”
I imagined how sweet the elixir she held before me would taste against my tongue. And I hated her for bringing it. With that little bottle before me, I felt a distinct pull towards what might become my freedom. After spending so much time being resigned to die, the prospect of liberty seemed like a cruel joke. In spite of myself, I licked my dry lips in anticipation. “And you’re not working for him?”
“I work for myself. You’ve always known that about me.”
“Yes. That’s why it doesn’t make sense that you’re here.”
Sighing like a gentle angel, she put the lip of the bottle against my lips and tipped it up. An explosion of power, unlike anything I’d ever felt, ignited in my head the moment the liquid made contact. It was light against my taste buds with a vaguely familiar flavor, but there was an element inside it that stirred me to life like nothing before ever had. I felt the energy move through me like an electric current, hard and quick like a lover’s eager thrust.
As I tried to process the change, Amanda stepped quietly back and graced me with another cool smile. The silver chains fell away instantly when I exerted only a tiny amount of pressure on them, hitting the floor and bringing forth a rise of gray dust and a symphony of metal against metal. Rising from the filthy bed, I stared down at the chains for several moments.
I turned to her. “What did you just give me?”
The lilting quality of her tone was deceptively innocent. “Isaiah’s blood.”
CHAPTER TWO – Sarah
It’s okay. I can do this. No problem. It’s just a horse, not a monster.
My left foot was in the stirrup. My right foot was on the fence. Messenger was standing there looking bored as I contemplated what horrible things might happen to me if I actually swung my other leg over the saddle. Broken collarbone. Dislocated hip. Broken nose. Concussion. Nothing good, that was sure.
She’s a good horse. She’s never thrown anyone. She’s never been aggressive. But my internal dialogue wasn’t helping me calm down very much. The fear inside was sharper than ever, nudging and pushing at the flimsy courage I showed to the world.
“Shit.” I swore.
Her big black head swung around and she gave me a look of pure exasperation.
Messenger was my horse. She was a Tennessee Walking horse who had been nothing more than a lawn ornament for the past four years. She was originally a gift from my father, and an attempt to get me to break out of the habit of shutting out the rest of the world. It hadn’t worked out as well as he had hoped.
My Dad had wanted me to ride again. Even after he
first died, I couldn’t find it within myself to get up there and take the chance. Finally, after four years of excuses, I determined that enough time had been wasted. I had seen my friend Jackson ride her several times, and he never had any trouble with her. But he was one of those kids who had grown up on the back of a horse and knew exactly what he was doing. That didn’t mean I could expect the same results out of her.
A gentle puff of a breeze pushed against my back and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. If my Dad were watching me, what would he see? A coward? Is that what I really wanted? Having anyone view me as weak or afraid never failed to piss me off. There was a significant part of me that felt shamed by the thought that my own father might come to that conclusion if he were there, standing in that wet field with the morning mist creating a dense curtain around us.
I took a long breath, put my weight into the stirrup and slowly swung my leg over the back of the saddle. She didn’t move a muscle. I breathed in the heady scent of rich earth, warm horseflesh and old leather. The stirrup leathers squeaked against my calves in encouragement. I tried to cling to that familiar feeling of being up in the air and the comfort of having a horse under me that I trusted. That had all come from Lenny, the old chestnut draft horse that I had originally learned to ride on. Surely that same confidence could blossom when I rode this horse as well.
“Alright, Messy. Let’s go.” I lifted the reins slightly and gave her a little squeeze with both legs.
Quite calmly, she began walking forward. I reached down to scratch at my left calf and the right stirrup slipped off my boot. She was still moving slowly across the brown grass of the field, so I attempted to find the lost stirrup with my foot. My boot heel bumped her side. Her dark head went up, ears flicking back towards me for some direction. Getting none, she stepped up into her running walk and I lost the other stirrup. Panic began to shoot through me. I tried to pull her back, but she wasn’t listening. As we got closer and closer to the fence, she sped up.
The Vampire's Release, A Paranormal Romance (Undead in Brown County #4) Page 1
