Briar followed them, staying in their shadows. Trailing them the way she imagined the creature had trailed her, stupid and oblivious, through the woods.
Chapter 5
Sylvain
Sylvain lifted the tree branch to impale the crawler. His hands shook, and he saw Briar’s face, freckles stark against her white skin, as the crawler leaned in to bite her. Driving the sharp end of the branch into its soft, rotting skin, he felt only satisfaction. Pinned to the ground now, Sylvain reached down, and tugged its head from its body.
For a second, the head gave a cry and hiss, but disintegrated into dust. He whirled, ready to race into the forest to chase the soldier who’d dared to put its cold hands on the girl, but it was gone, much like he expected. Soldiers were vampires, but not like him. They were cold, and their minds were not their own. More sentient beings could use the soldiers to carry out the tasks they didn’t want to do.
Soldiers were excellent, expendable assassins.
But in all of Sylvain’s long life, he’d never seen a crawler and a soldier work in tandem. Nor had he seen one crawler so close to a residential area like this one. This was a wealthy neighborhood, well lit. It was the sort of neighborhood where, if someone went missing, they would be noticed.
And what the hell was Briar doing, walking through the woods at night?
Angrily, he marched through the woods toward the street, not caring if he was quiet, or hidden. He heard Briar’s voice in his head, her soft, slightly southern-accented drawl as she answered his questions.
Stupid girl. This wasn’t fucking Arkansas, or wherever the hell she was from. She needed to be more careful. Smarter.
When he found her, he’d—
Sylvain stopped.
He’d do what, exactly? He couldn’t even answer what it was that had led him to her tonight. Why he’d continued to think about her and the way she smelled, like apple blossoms in the old orchards around his family’s farmhouse.
His heart beat, a heavy thump in his chest. No. He didn’t think of the before time, the farmhouse, or his family. A scream cut through the night, and he threw his hands over his ears.
No.
“Sylvain.”
He heard the scream again. His wife. He knew what came next, but was helpless to stop it. Through the night, his son’s voice echoed through his brain as his small boy cried out in fear. The woods disappeared, becoming older woods, darker woods. A forest so thick the light couldn’t penetrate the overlapping branches, leaving the forest floor spongy and mossy.
Ahead of him, his cabin—the one he’d spent months building, chopping down trees, splitting the logs, hauling them with his horse over to the site he’d cleared with Juliette. But now it was burning, flames reaching so high, they scorched the trees.
Sylvain ran for the cabin, eyes on the flames spilling from the window. He knew Juliette and Jacques were inside, dying. But before he could get to them, something slammed into him, pinning him to the ground.
“Sylvain!” Valen was merely a shadow against the flames. Pain exploded along the side of his face, and suddenly the flames were gone. “Sylvain!”
He twisted, dislodging his oldest friend. “Get off me, Valen.”
Despite not having eaten for four-hundred years, his stomach rebelled as if he had. The image of the cabin, seeing and hearing his family burn to death—it felt as real as it had when it first happened.
“Why are you here?” he spat, guilt assaulting him momentarily when his friend’s face pinched.
“I followed you.”
“Don’t need you to babysit me.” He huffed, standing and brushing the leaves off his jacket. “You can go.”
“I know that.” Valen’s sad voice made Sylvain only angrier, and he lashed out.
“There’s no reason for us to be together once Hudson has dosed us. It’d be better for all of us if we went our separate ways.”
The clouds broke, turning Valen’s blond hair silvery white in the moonlight. Facing Sylvain, Valen chuckled. “You’re such an asshole. But you’re my brother, and I won’t leave you.”
Sylvain stared at him, taking in the stubborn set of his jaw and shoulders. The man would follow him to the ends of the earth, when all Sylvain wanted to do was walk off it and fall into nothingness. “We’re not a family anymore, Valen. I’m done pretending. You’re a stranger as far as I’m concerned.”
“Damn you.” The hurt in Valen’s voice nearly undid him, but Sylvain didn’t let himself look away.
“I’m already damned,” he answered, and before Valen could respond, he ran. Like the coward he was, and the coward he’d always be.
✽✽✽
Sylvain tracked the girl the rest of the night, aware of every hour that passed and every minute that brought him closer to sunrise.
In the old days, he’d have memorized her scent and followed it. Discounting the scent of horses or other humans, he’d have found her trail like it was a golden thread, and all he had to do was wind it in his hand.
The modern world made that impossible. He could wait for a train, but it may not be the same train, the same car. Ironic, when this era was all about things happening at the speed of light, and designing things to deliver whatever humans wanted as soon as the thought occurred to them.
For him, though, a creature who relied on his senses, this world only confounded him and made things more difficult.
Why did he even need to find her? It wasn’t to make sure she was okay. He didn’t care. Didn’t care if the crawler ripped her to pieces or the soldier fed off her until she fell, pale and lifeless, to the ground.
In a flash, he saw just that. Briar’s scars, whiter than white against a bloodless face. Fear, like he hadn’t felt in a lifetime, stabbed him in the belly.
What the fuck was that?
Halting where he was, he very nearly turned around and ran in the opposite direction. Away from whatever it was the girl brought out in him.
But there it was again. He’d gone a good distance, from Brighton to Davis Square, when he found her. Apple blossoms and something else.
He tracked it to some coffee shop across the street from yet another coffee shop.
There she was—as if a spotlight had illuminated her just for him. Through the window, he watched her sip her coffee, the cup shaking and spilling liquid onto the table. If he’d been close, he knew he would have smelled her fear, and he hated that—hated she’d been afraid and he’d been too late to keep her safe.
“What are you doing here?”
Years of practice kept him from showing his surprise. He answered Marcus as sarcastically as he could. “Do you suddenly own the city? Am I not allowed to stay here?”
“Jesus, Sylvain. Are you ever able to answer a simple question?” Marcus stared at the small figure in the window.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, watching a fascinating range of emotions play across Marcus’s face.
“I work here.”
“Do you?” Sylvain crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Making coffee?”
“Shut up,” Marcus ground out. “Forget it.”
The door to the shop opened, and a wave of apple blossom-tinted air struck Sylvain in the face. It was so strong, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
“You feel it, too,” Marcus whispered.
“No, I don’t,” he answered immediately and opened his eyes to see Marcus staring at him in wonder and bemusement.
“You do. I feel it. Hudson feels it. Valen felt it.”
“No.” His voice choked. “I don’t feel anything.” He wouldn’t let himself feel anything again. He refused. The last time he had, the last time any of them had, it had torn them apart, left them the shells they now were.
It could never happen again.
Chapter 6
Marcus
Sylvain could deny it all he wanted, but this was the most emotion he’d shown in two hundred years, and the only thing that had changed was the presence of this girl.
<
br /> “She’s like us, in a way,” Marcus said, causing Sylvain to snort derisively.
“Oh, is she?”
“The sun burns her like it would us. She’s part of the darkness.”
“There’s nothing dark about her,” Sylvain retorted before pressing his lips together, but Marcus smiled. His friend had admitted more about his feelings than he’d meant to. “Why doesn’t Hudson give her the same medicine he gives us?”
Marcus shook his head. “I’m sure he would, but it doesn’t work on humans. He’s tried in the past. No effect.”
“And your research?”
“I concern myself with blood, Sylvain. I don’t save people.” No. His research was purely selfish. Blood was his focus—creating a never-ending food source for them. Hudson was the one who cared about more than himself, even if he pretended otherwise.
“Why are you here, Sylvain? Really?” he tried again. “I saw you last night. So did Hudson. Watching her.”
“You’re watching her, too.”
“I am.”
“Why?” Sylvain faced him, chin tilted down, eyes flicking over his shoulder and at the sidewalk before finally settling on his.
“She smells like home,” he said.
Eyes wide, Sylvain shook his head. “No, she doesn’t.”
“Yes,” Marcus answered. “Wildflowers. Ice and the sea to Valen. And she’s important to Hudson. You didn’t see him last night. He ran away. Scented her and jumped out of the car.”
“No.” Sylvain raked his fingers through his long hair. “Valen doesn’t care about her. If he did, he would have helped her tonight.”
Anger flared inside Marcus. “Why would he need to help her? What happened? What did you do?” He moved closer to the window and narrowed his eyes. Briar continued to shake. Alternately sipping her coffee and rubbing her eyes, she appeared deep in thought. He peered closer. Caught in her hair was a leaf, and the elbow of her jacket was dark, wet. His eyes flashed to her neck, checking for wounds, but he saw nothing. “What did you do, Sylvain?”
“Nothing.” Sylvain stepped back, holding out his hands. “Calm the fuck down, Marcus. You’re flashing fang.”
One deep breath followed another, and another, until he could be sure he wouldn’t rip Sylvain’s head off.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I followed her.” He swallowed hard, turning to stare at Briar, and his voice softened. “I don’t know why. Since last night. Couldn’t think of anything except her. Shit!” He spun away, walking a few steps down the street only to return. “You’re right. You’re fucking right. She smells like home, and it’s all I can think about.”
Marcus knew what he meant. Since last night, when he’d dropped her off at home with no intention of ever seeing her again, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. As he’d driven back to BC, his chest had tightened exponentially. He’d parked Hudson’s car, stuck the keys under the seat, and run all the way back to Davis Square, only to stand outside her building. He left when the clouds gathered and it began to rain, forcing himself to go to his lab. There, he’d gorged on blood, thinking maybe it would satisfy him.
But it wasn’t blood he wanted. He was a goddamned vampire, and he didn’t want blood.
He wanted Briar.
The rest of the day, he’d fought himself. Each time he’d wanted to step outside the lab, he’d forced himself back inside.
“I’m going in,” he muttered.
“What?” Sylvain slapped his hand against his shoulder. “No. You can’t.”
“Why the hell not? Maybe I’m going crazy. I’m going in there, and I’m going to see what it is between us. Maybe it’s something, or maybe I’m just hungry.”
A growl rumbled from Sylvain’s throat, and Marcus smirked. “You’re welcome to join me.”
“Fuck you, Marcus.” Without a backwards glance, Sylvain marched down the street then disappeared around a corner.
Now that his brother was gone, so was his bravado. As a scientist, though, Marcus was curious. What was it about Briar, besides her tantalizing smell, that drew them to her? There was only one way to find out.
He strode through the doors and directly to the spot where she was mopping up another coffee spill. A pile of stained, wet napkins showed it wasn’t the first one she’d had.
“Did any of the coffee make it into your mouth?” he joked. Briar’s frightened stare met his. All laughter left him, and he had to smother the snarl threatening to escape. “What happened?” he asked, mentally planning on seeking out Sylvain and killing him. He could scent a faint trace of his brother lingering on her.
She remained silent, gaze flickering from him to the door and around the shop. Trembling, she crushed the napkin in her fist and lowered it to her lap. The injury suffered earlier must have been paining her because she cradled it close to her chest. Her hand, wrapped in bandages, was gray with dirt and speckled with pieces of grass and leaves.
Grabbing a chair, he sat it next to hers and cupped her face in his hand. Immediately, her eyes shut and she let out a breath. “Briar,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”
A small frown appeared between her eyebrows, drawing them low, but she nodded and opened her eyes. “Marcus.” His name was a sigh, and though he couldn’t remember telling her his name, he liked the shape of her mouth as she formed it. “I think so.”
Carefully, he let his hand slip from her face, trailing down her neck to sneakily check for puncture wounds. Sniffing, he found no trace of blood, but what the coffee and baked goods masked earlier, became more pronounced.
Rot.
Rot, and filth, and decay.
“What did you see? Briar.” He kicked the chair away, knelt next to her, and wrapped her good hand in his. “What happened?”
“You won’t believe me.” Her voice shook, and he cursed. Sylvain was somehow involved in this, though he didn’t know how. Whatever it was she’d seen had shaken her to her core and left her here, stinking of the worst of his kind.
“I believe you,” he whispered. “Whatever it is. I will believe you.”
“You’re a scientist, like Professor Nors. What I saw shouldn’t exist.”
“Because I’m a scientist, I’ll believe you. But more than that, Briar, I’ll believe you because it will be your eyes that saw it.” He leapt without thinking, and free falling, waited for her to catch him.
Clearing her throat, Briar’s eyes darted around the shop before she began. “It crawled, and spoke. It had fangs. And it wanted to taste me.”
Marcus shut his eyes so she wouldn’t see his rage. Holding his breath, he forced it down.
Down.
Down, into a box and then shut the box and stuffed it into a closet.
A crawler. That was the stench. The rot. Crawlers were vampires, but not like him. They were what happened when a turning went wrong, and without conscience, its creator let it live. All of them had the potential to be crawlers, and it was only luck that left him humanesque.
“I believe you.” He opened his eyes, squeezing her hand tightly. “I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Are you all right? Did it bite you?”
Slowly, Briar shook her head. “No. But…” Disentangling her fingers from his, she touched her side. “There was another one. It scratched me.”
Jacket buttoned, he didn’t see what she meant, but when she pulled the two sides apart, he saw rends in the fabric of her shirt. “Show me.” His voice was deep, angry. She paled.
Trembling, she lifted the edge, exposing white skin. Across her side were four deep-purple bruises and then scratches, not deep enough to draw blood, but red. “The crawler did this?”
“No,” she answered and had to clear her throat again. “The other one. He didn’t crawl, but I never saw him.”
Did Sylvain do this?
“Him?” If Sylvain had hurt her, if he’d been the one to bruise her soft skin, Marcus would tear him to shreds. “Did you recognize his voi
ce? Was there anything familiar about him?”
“No. But he was cold. Like ice. He held me still while the thing pulled itself up my body, and his skin was so cold—it was like it burned me.”
His shoulders slumped in relief. Thank God. The cold. It was a giveaway. A soldier then. Mindless, it took orders and followed them. It was like a robot—give them a task, press enter, and it went to work. Why in the world would it have bothered Briar? To that end, why the hell was there a crawler and a soldier together, in Boston?
Marcus’s skin itched, and he shivered. “Where, Briar?”
She shook her head from side to side. “I don’t even know. I went to McMullen.” A far-off smile appeared on her face. “They let me in. Even though it was closed, and I got to see the tapestries. Venus and Adonis.” There was that tiny pucker between her brows again. “I talked to the man from yesterday, and then I got lost.”
“In the museum? And what man from yesterday?”
He took her hand in his again, and her face heated, blood rushing from her neck to her face. The scar below her eye turned splotchy, and one small red shape, like a crescent appeared. Fascinating. He reached for it without thinking, touching the pad of his thumb to the tiny outline. She shifted uncomfortably beneath his examination, eyes downcast, and he knew it was because of what he’d done yesterday, staring at her scar.
But it didn’t bother him.
His eyesight was good, better than a human’s. He could make out every flaw, if it could be called that, marring her skin. Letting his gaze drift from her face, he paused on her neck. It hurt him, for some reason, to see the results of the pain she suffered.
“Don’t look,” she whispered, and his eyes shot to hers. “Please? It’s ugly.”
Shaking his head, he lifted both hands to her neck before wrapping his fingers around her small throat and skimmed them along the puckered skin. “It’s not. Not at all.”
The scent of fear and hurt disappeared, replaced with the hypnotizing one from yesterday—wildflowers and heat.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she said. “After last night. I thought you were leaving.”
Briar Page 5
