My Vampire: A Vampire Fae Urban Fantasy Romance (My Supernatural Boyfriend Book 1)

by E E Everly

  The last demon’s down, unfortunately for the plan. Killian and I catch our breaths. I zip my wings out of existence.

  “Nice trick with your wings, sensational Sasha.”

  “Yeah, who knew?”

  With the commotion inside gone, gunshots outside draw my attention. How did I not hear them before? “How will we escape?”

  Killian blurs to the door. He holds up his hand. “Stay back. It’s a bloody battlefield out there.”

  “The demons were supposed to take us. No one’s coming.” The storm makes seeing vamp or demon difficult, and they both have the benefit of the woods on either side of the driveway to protect them from the nonstop barrage of bullets. Each enemy force could be a couple of dozen.

  “They’re distracted. The demons are quite intent on blasting the vampires into the ground.”

  “We have to leave.” I lean into his shoulder. “Maybe a demon will grab me on the way to the car.”

  “The car is in the middle of heavy fire.”

  “Shoot.” I wring my hands. “Why don’t I just go out there and hold my hands up and let them take me.”

  “No.”

  I point to the demons in the room. “You shouldn’t have knocked them out. They could have taken me and you could have chased us.”

  Killian grimaces. “Sorry. Old habits. I see demons and I have to pulverize them.”

  He doesn’t really want them to take me either. “So what’s next?”

  “We get out of here.”

  “How?”

  Killian scoops me into his arms.

  I swing my feet, resisting. “You must be kidding.”

  “We make a dash for it. We head for a vehicle in the drive. As we draw closer, I’ll slow so a demon can grab us.”

  My heart pounds. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. How did this become so out of control?”

  “These are Nicolae’s vamps. Just because he submits to Anya, doesn’t mean he doesn’t do things his own way. They wouldn’t miss a chance to tear into some demons.”

  “Old western shoot-out style? Are they using real bullets? All those humans will die. I’m not a fan of getting shot either.”

  Killian looks outside and squints through the storm. The deluge is so thick vamp or demon couldn’t possibly be hitting their marks. How will Killian dodge the bullets?

  I tuck my head into the crick of Killian’s neck and curl into as tight a ball as I can. “Don’t let me get hit. If I’m injured, the storm might not hold. I’d hate for you to get toasted.”

  Killian shifts me in his arms. “Do you trust me?”

  “I must if I’m nuts enough to do this.”

  “That’s just what I want to hear.”

  Killian steps onto the porch. I brace myself. A van is at the end of the drive, about one hundred yards away. We’ll need the vehicle to protect Killian from the sun once the storm stops. With his vamp speed, he should traverse the field in a matter of seconds.

  Killian could be shot in a matter of seconds.

  I could be shot in a matter of seconds.

  I hold my breath, and Killian darts off the porch. The rain falls so fiercely it could sweep me out of his arms. How can Killian see where he’s going?

  Trust him.

  I tense against him.

  He will get me through this.

  Gunshot booms and cold rainy pelts engulf my senses. I draw breath and feel as if I’m drowning.

  Shouldn’t we be across the field by now?

  Has time slowed?

  My fingers slip on Killian’s slick neck. Fearing I’ll lose hold and Killian will drop me, I clench his shirt collar, probably strangling him. Pieces of my hair are plastered on my face in smothering tendrils.

  This is the most powerless situation I’ve ever been in.

  The air whizzes as bullets fly past. I’d rather the demons and vampires were fighting with swords and knives, one on one, out in the open. But the cover of the trees would offer protection to the vampires should my storm drop; their tactic makes sense. Occasionally a demon advances, only to be shot down. I know this because of their screams, always close, to the left or right. Vampires whip around us as well, snarling as they engage. If I were looking, they’d be too fast for me to see faces. I don’t dare glance at the body count left behind us.

  Killian is my only shield in this chaos.

  He’s my vampire. He will protect me.

  It doesn’t matter if he loves me or if he’s only infatuated with my scent.

  I believe in him.

  Killian sidesteps and spins. The motion disorients me. Before I know it, we slam into the van’s side, not because Killian can’t see, but because they were ready for us and attacked. I slide right out of Killian’s grasp as he goes down, and a sharp crack jars my skull. I’ve hit something, or someone hit me.

  “Killi—” My world darkens as I fear the worst. Sunlight will come. I won’t be conscious to hold the storm.

  NINETEEN

  I scramble upright, instantly regretting my movement as pain lances my skull. “Killian?” I squint, taking in my surroundings. The living space is warm and suffocating, swathed in heavy fabrics. Antique-looking brass lamps and candlesticks dot the room, lighting the otherwise gray interior.

  I’m alone. Panic races my heart. Soaked and shivering despite the intense heat, I’m lying on a chaise near a fire. I must have not been here long enough for my clothing to dry. Where is here?

  It can’t be the vampire mansion. This décor favors more browns and maroons than the silvers and blacks of Anya’s home.

  “Killian?” I scan the room again, hoping in vain for Killian to emerge from a corner all broody and reassuring. My eyes deceive me in thinking there’s movement in the shadows. I squeeze my eyes tight and then open them. My vision’s screwed up from the bump on my head.

  There’s nothing. There’s no one. My stomach twists in knots. Ogling ogres! I’ve torched him. I brace my skull, tucking my head toward my knees. Killian can’t be dead. He can’t.

  Because if I lost consciousness, he’s most likely a burned up crust.

  I stumble to my feet with shaking hands.

  Bracing my throbbing head, I lumber toward the door, feeling along the polished wooden furniture for support.

  My heart is empty. How does it beat? My carotid artery might as well have been sliced open and spraying across the room for all the anguish I feel. Death would be more welcome than walking through life knowing my failed storm killed my vampire.

  He might not be dead.

  Dare I hope?

  How could he have escaped? If the demons didn’t grab him, perhaps he made it to the trees.

  There is hope.

  If Killian got away, that means I’m alone.

  Don’t panic, Sasha.

  My steps across the room are heavy. I’m moving through sludge. My slow state could be my injuries or it could be that my brain refuses to catch up.

  My brain shutting down might be the best thing for me, because if I don’t think, the truth can’t come crashing down on me.

  He has to be alive.

  Believe it.

  I’m supposed to be doing something; I have purpose if this is the demon’s lair, but all I can do is hope that if I open the door, someone on the other side, anyone, whether friend or foe, will be able to tell me where Killian is.

  Unless he’s dead.

  As I reach for the handle, I can’t see my fingers. I should feel the sleek brass knob, but nothing registers to my senses.

  Except the wretched knife in my chest.

  The knob turns under my hand. I jump back, nearly tripping over my feet as someone pushes the door open. A lifeless body lands facedown at my feet. My mouth tries to scream, but what I see restores a bit of reason. The black jeans and silver T-shirt look familiar.

  I know this person.

  Elation grips my heart. It beats with its lost hope. “Killian!” I choke back tears as I fall over him. He’s not burned as far as I can te
ll.

  I try to roll him. He’s heavy as I push. I lift his shoulder, and it flops back hard against the carpet. His legs twist, but I straighten them.

  Killian grunts. He’s alive, for now. I don’t have time to assess his injuries or ask him what’s wrong because I sense a presence I was too distracted to notice before.

  A demon stands over us in the form of a plain unassuming human. He’s a tad geeky, with black-rimmed glasses, but I remind myself that, though his body is human, it has supernatural strength, enough to haul Killian around.

  “Sit tight. Korbinian will be here at midnight. That should give you plenty of time to regroup and mourn your fate.” He chucks a blood bag onto Killian’s lap. “Blood, so you don’t drink your pretty storm sprite’s.” He slams the door shut.

  “Tell Korbinian I don’t have all night!” I look around for something to throw and grab a decorative metal pear, something of a paperweight, off a side table and chuck it at the door. The pear smashes into it, gouging a huge chunk out of the dark wood. Good. Not wanting to prolong seeing the demon who is hell-bent on destroying my life, I refuse to wait without wreaking havoc.

  “Sulky Sasha,” Killian mumbles.

  Killian. I hastily scramble over to him. My poor vampire. His face is bruised and bloodstained. I probe along his scalp for injuries, for the source of the blood. He has a few lacerations on his cheeks and a gash near his hairline. “Oh crap, Killian. What did they do to you?”

  Killian twitches under my touch and rounds into a ball, bracing his side. “They gave me a good beating.”

  I pull his hands away and scrunch up his shirt. His torso is yellow and purple. A weird bulge mars his side. Killian winces as my fingers skim over it.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  “Broken rib.”

  I’ve never seen a broken rib deformed like this. “Why aren’t you healing?”

  Killian pulls down on his shirt’s neckline. A gaping hole just above his heart oozes blood. “Silver bullet.”

  I swear, only because I’m freaking out. The bullet was inches from his heart. Any closer and I would have been prodding a corpse. “What do we do about that?” Anxiety surges my heart rate.

  “Please calm down. Your pounding heart makes me thirsty.” Killian moistens his lips. “Please, for the love of everything, woman.” He draws a deep breath, flashing his fangs. “Help me sit up.”

  I pull on his hands and manage to drag him upright. I wave the blood bag. “Are you going to drink this blood or what?”

  “I need to get the bullet out first.”

  I blanch. “You have to be kidding me.”

  “I’ll do it.” Hunched over, Killian massages around his wound. “Have the blood ready.”

  “Blistering basilisks.” I take the blood bag in my hand.

  “Take off my belt.” Killian’s voice is gruff with hurt, and I recognize a thirsty edge to it.

  “What? Why?”

  “I need something to bite down on”—Killian braces himself with his hands—“and I prefer it not to be your neck.”

  “Right.” As I work his belt free, I lean toward him, highly aware that my neck is too close to Killian’s mouth. He rests his head on my shoulder as I reach around him. I’m conscious of his groans that are more like restrained whimpers.

  “Sasha.” He speaks my name in earnest, his voice throaty and rough. Afraid he’ll lose it, I pull back, freeing the belt, and hold it near his mouth. Killian bites down.

  I do not fail to notice his extended canines cutting into the leather.

  “Be ready with the blood,” he mumbles around the belt.

  I nod. I would give him my blood, I would. I can’t bear to see him like this. I’m not ready when Killian lifts his hand. Before I can cry out, Killian shoves two fingers into his wound. He howls through his teeth as he bites with all his might on the leather. I’m sobbing and holding out the blood bag as Killian digs his fingers around. Blood flows freely whenever he withdraws them. He sucks in a breath and shoves them deeper while kicking his heels against the floor. By the time Killian rips his fingers from the wound and throws the bullet across the room, I’m a sniffling mess.

  He cries out one final time before collapsing onto the rug.

  “Okay. Okay.” I rip off the end of the plastic bag as blood pours from his wound. Killian’s eyes instantly darken as a fresh metallic odor permeates the air. I shove the bag’s tip into his mouth after removing the belt. I hope it’s enough. One lousy pint. Please be enough.

  Killian sucks the bag dry in seconds as he curls his hands around mine. I free my fingers before he crushes them in his haste to express every last drop from the bag. Killian drops his hands when nothing is left, his arms falling with exhaustion. I ignore his canines, still poking past his partially closed lips, as I lift his shirt to get a better look at the bullet hole. I wait and pray, swiping at my tear-covered cheeks with the back of my hands, ready to shove my wrist into his mouth if needed.

  The wound begins to approximate, the skin creeping with slowness across the gap. I breathe an audible sigh that’s more like a gasp of relief. I probe his rib. It’s still broken at a grotesque angle. Killian reaches under my hand, and with a horrible crunch, he pushes up until the rib is aligned with the others. I cover my mouth, hiding my horror and smothering my screech.

  “I’m healing, Sasha. Don’t worry.”

  I nod with my hands still over my mouth. He could have died. He could have burned. His wounds could have killed him. Hysterics destroy my reprieve as I’m crying and gulping air.

  “Sasha.” Killian extends his arms toward me. I cuddle next to him and cling to his side as he holds me. His arms don’t have the strength they should.

  “I thought you were dead.” Somehow he needs to know just how frightened I was. He needs to know how devastated I’d be to lose him. “I thought I burned you to a crisp.”

  “I know. I know.” He strokes my forehead. “Shh. Shh, my sweet Sasha. Let’s just sleep.”

  TWENTY

  My head still pounds when I crack my eyelids open sometime later. My clothes are partially dry, and I’m lying on the chaise again. “Killian?”

  “I’m here.” He blurs over and sits on the cushion’s edge.

  “Ambrosia. I need ambrosia.” My parched mouth matches how dried out I am from the crying I did earlier. “Your wound?” I reach for the tear in his shirt.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  “What’s wrong with my head?”

  “A demon dove from above, coming from my left. All I saw was this sweep of black. I tried to dodge him, but we went down, and he clocked you. I’m sorry I dropped you.”

  I wave his apology off. I didn’t expect to come through the ordeal without a scratch. “Was that your first encounter with a flying demon? Their wings are black. Using them expends a lot of energy, so they don’t open them often. I should have warned you.”

  “That’s okay. I’d say in the end we’re right where we’re supposed to be. Not too worse for the wear.”

  “When did you get the gunshot?”

  “Right after I fell.”

  I smile. “You made it across the field.”

  “I did.” He trails his fingers along my hairline, pushing my flyaways off my forehead. “Did you have any doubt?”

  “Not at all.” I lean my head back and exhale. My skin’s itching, driven by my need for sustenance, but the annoyance increases the more my body complains. “They give you blood and me nothing.”

  “I expect it’s to keep you weak so you can’t call a storm.”

  I growl. “When can we expect the cavalry?” Someone has to bust me out soon, or Killian will see my beastly side.

  “It’s dark. We’ve been here for half a day, at least. The demons had to drive for a while before we arrived.”

  “You were conscious for all of that?”

  “Yeah. We’re somewhere on the other side of the city. If the safe house and Deorc Mansion are two points on a triangle dra
wn around the city, the demon estate would make the third.”

  “Do you think Natalia knows where we are?”

  “Your system would have metabolized the tracker by now, but Seth’s team should have picked up the trace. They could be waiting for Korbinian to show. If they’ve cased the place, they must know he’s not here yet.”

  “What did he do? Go on vacation? I mean seriously. Where would he go when he’s trying to figure out how to use an amulet?” I squeeze my scalp, trying to relieve the pain in my skull. “Ugh, my head really hurts.”

  Killian slips his fingers through my hair. “There it is. You have a nice lump. Possibly a concussion too.”

  I close my eyes, relishing the sensation of his amazing fingers. “Have you checked out the room to see if we can break out?”

  “We’re locked in tight. This room might look cozy, but they must have fitted it with vampire proof windows and doors in case they want to interrogate someone in comfort.”

  “In comfort?”

  “The room’s nice. Not exactly a prison.” Killian leans over me, resting his shoulder on the chaise as he stares. “I don’t know what kind of man Korbinian is. They say he’s insane, remember? Maybe he holds people here to psych them out.”

  “Right.” I rub around my knot. Every time my fingers hit the soft, swollen tissue, I pinch my face. It’s so disturbing the way the bump is mushy.

  Killian takes over the job of massaging around my lump. Eventually his ministrations extend to my brow and neck.

  After ten or so minutes, I brush him off. “It’s no use. I need ambrosia, or some narcotics, or a stiff drink.” I push Killian away and roll off the chaise.

  My fingers skate over a bookshelf and wood ornamentation along the walls as I lumber around the room.

  “Oh look.” I pluck a volume off the shelf. “We can read while we wait.” I heave the book at the door, along with a few more. Every thunk echoes in my skull as I create a nice pile on the floor. I hope whoever comes in next trips.

  Killian just stares at me. “We probably have three or four hours until midnight. Save your strength.”

  I snarl. As usual, he’s practical when he has enough of his supernatural elixir to keep him sane. “Storm sprites don’t like being locked up.”