The Last Vampire- Complete series Box Set

by R. A. Steffan

  He handed me a helmet and I raised my eyebrow at him.

  “Not sure head injuries are really at the top of my list of concern, these days,” I said, thinking of his miraculous recovery after having his brains splattered everywhere by a Fae bullet. Even now, the memory was enough to draw a shudder from me... but seriously, motorcycle crashes no longer held nearly as much terror when you knew you could swirl out of existence before your body ever hit the pavement.

  “Humor me,” he said.

  It was such a small thing, in the midst of everything we were facing. I took the helmet with a shrug and put it on, forcing a smile as I did so. The expression probably looked more like a grimace.

  Jesus. As upset as I’d been to find out that my father was trapped in Hell with the rest of the human tithelings, I was even more upset to discover that he’d gotten out. Which demon had he tied himself to in order to escape the gate? There were no good answers to that question—only bad ones, and even worse ones.

  “Do you still have the second salt dagger with you?” Rans asked, his thoughts evidently running parallel with mine.

  “Yeah, of course,” I said.

  I pulled the dagger and its leather sheath out of the zippered side pocket of my bag and held it out to him. But he only shook his head.

  “No, you keep it,” he said. “Just in case, mind.”

  Firming my jaw, I nodded and strapped the sheath around my thigh. Any cops who happened to see it might not be too amused, but I could always mesmerize them into forgetting all about it. If I got a few crisis-free days here in St. Louis, maybe I could make more of the makeshift weapons.

  Hah. Crisis-free days...

  Oh, well. A girl could dream, anyway. Yearning for a lull in the ongoing deadly danger so I could cast demon-repelling knives from salt and epoxy was yet another way that being a vampire had changed my entire outlook on life. Or on undeath, rather.

  Whatever.

  Rans checked the bike over and climbed aboard. I swung up behind him, balancing my bag solidly against my back and wrapping my arms around his stomach. I couldn’t help thinking back to the first time I’d ridden with him like this—dazed and half-starved, reeling from a kidnapping attempt by the Fae. In reality, it had only been weeks ago. It felt like years.

  The engine roared into life, the bike rumbling between my legs. In no time, we were exiting the private underground garage, speeding toward the unfashionable little bungalow where I’d grown up.

  Please let Dad be all right, I thought. Please let him not have made the worst mistake of his life.

  * * *

  My house—which was technically still Dad’s house—was starting to give off that unkempt ‘abandoned property’ vibe. I had no doubt that the city would be sending me nastygrams about weed ordinance violations and the like before long, assuming they hadn’t already.

  Rans parked the Triumph on the cracked pavement of the driveway, and I dismounted. Steeling myself, I squared my shoulders and marched toward the front door. I was only a few steps away when an unexpected feeling of aversion washed over me.

  Why did I want to knock on this door again? The place was disgusting. It probably had rats. Or cockroaches. Or those little... silverfish things that scuttled around in the bathroom. My feet stuttered to a halt.

  Rans approached from behind me. “Something wrong, love?” Then he came level with my shoulder, and he stopped as well. “Ah. I see.”

  Despite the threat of creepy-crawlies and a germ-fest of epic proportions for anyone foolish enough to get closer to the house, he strode forward with an expression of distaste and pounded on the door.

  “Edward!” he called. “I know you’re in there, you old charlatan. Open up!”

  A few moments later, the lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing Nigellus’ octogenarian butler framed in the entryway.

  “Oh!” he exclaimed. “Forgive me, sir. Miss. Enter and be welcome, Ransley Thorpe... Zorah Bright. You must forgive my little parlor trick—I wasn’t sure who might show up, or what their intentions might be.”

  The odd feeling of disgust had faded the moment Edward welcomed us, and I realized belatedly that it must have been the result of a spell like the one he’d used to hide Nigellus’ house in Vallecito. The entire situation was beyond awkward—not only did I have affectionate feelings for Edward because he was a sweet and likable person, but he’d also literally died to protect my father from Myrial in Hell. The demon had torn his body into bloody, unidentifiable pieces of meat, and only the fact that he was magically bound to Nigellus had allowed Edward to be miraculously healed and revived afterward.

  For that reason, it was difficult to be mad at the guy. Difficult... but not impossible. Not until I got some answers, anyway.

  “Where’s my father?” I snapped.

  Edward didn’t miss a beat in response to my less-than-friendly tone. “In the spare bedroom, miss, unless the commotion woke him up.”

  I brushed past him, peripherally aware of Rans asking, “Where is Nigellus?” and Edward replying, “Still in Hell, sir.”

  The second bedroom was at the back of the house. On my way there, I tried to come up with a calm, rational way to open the conversation with my dad. Seriously—I did. After all, I was a grown woman, and screaming at him in frustration was not a productive way to approach the situation we now found ourselves in.

  Hey—I could do rational.

  I’d just raised a fist to knock on the door when it swung open, revealing my father backlit in the doorway, a ratty old bathrobe tied around his waist. “Edward, what—” he began, only to cut himself off as he took in my presence. “Zorah! You’re here. Good. I need to tell you—”

  “What the ever-loving fuck were you thinking!” I yelled in his face.

  SIX

  AND... I MEAN... that was a rational question, wasn’t it? Totally rational. On the list of logical questions you asked someone after they’d just sold their soul to a random demon, it was right at the very top.

  Dad froze, his mouth hanging open, as though he somehow found the question surprising. I supposed an argument could be made that this exchange was a little out of character for the two of us—normally I was more of a quiet arguer—one who eventually caved because I hated conflict, and then went and silently cried in a corner somewhere afterward.

  His jaw snapped shut, and he looked at me with apparent consternation. Which, of course, only made me angrier. We were saved from a further downward spiral in the conversation—if you could call it that—by the arrival of Rans and Edward.

  “Perhaps we could continue this somewhere more comfortable?” Edward suggested diplomatically.

  I scowled. “Will being comfortable make me any happier about what I’m going to hear?”

  “Almost certainly not,” Edward admitted. “But it’s been a very long day, and these old bones could use a soft place to sit down while everyone yells at each other.”

  I was seriously pissed off... but not quite pissed off enough to begrudge an old man a chair to sit on. “Fine,” I grated. “The sofa’s not in great shape after the cops trashed the place a few weeks ago, but the armchair should be usable.”

  “Very good, miss,” Edward said, and led the way to the living room.

  I shot Dad a dark look and followed. The demon-bound butler helped himself to a seat, but Dad hovered. I was too mad to even consider sitting down, knowing there was likely to be quite a bit of angry pacing in my immediate future. Rans staked out a patch of wall to lean against, just inside the room’s arched entryway.

  “Right,” he said, “what brings you both here? You had to know how dangerous it would be.”

  Dad’s eyes narrowed as they took in Rans’ black-clad figure. With a faint jolt, I realized that not only had they never met before—I’d never so much as mentioned Rans’ existence to my father. For weeks, I’d lived with Dad in the titheling village in Hell, talking to him—or rather, at him—about everything and nothing, as I tried to draw him out aft
er the trauma he’d undergone in Dhuinne. But I’d been so heartbroken at the time that I hadn’t dared to crack open the dam holding back my emotions regarding Rans.

  It said a lot about my relationship with my father that rather than feeling like he was a safe haven to discuss my grief over my choice to leave Rans behind on Earth, I’d felt the need to protect that part of myself from him. And that had been when Dad was only a couple of steps up the evolutionary ladder from being a mental vegetable. Now that he seemed to be mostly back to his old self—

  Well.

  Let’s just say, the next couple of minutes were likely to be... interesting.

  “Who are you?” my dad demanded, scowling.

  Rans regarded him coolly. “I’m the vampire who’s been trying to keep your daughter alive, Darryl Bright. Unfortunately, I suffered something of a setback in that regard quite recently—but on the positive side, she did get better afterward.”

  I winced silently.

  Dad blinked at him. “The... vampire... who...?” He shook his head as though trying to jar something loose. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

  Edward cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m afraid I may have left some details out during our various discussions, Darryl—”

  Dad’s gaze moved from Rans, to Edward, to me. “But... vampires don’t exist!” he blurted.

  I winced again.

  “No?” Rans drawled, drawing my father’s gaze back to him.

  His piercing eyes kindled with their unearthly, glacier blue glow, and he curled his lip, revealing a flash of fang. My dad took an involuntary step backward. The sofa behind him cut him off at the knees, and he half-fell into it. Fortunately, the damaged frame creaked, but held.

  “How—” he choked out, still staring at Rans.

  Somehow, we seemed to be straying quite a distance from the all-important answer to the original ‘What the ever-loving fuck were you thinking’ question.

  “Dad,” I said, taking matters into my own hands, “this is Ransley Thorpe, my seven-hundred-year-old vampire lover who recently turned me into a vampire as well, in order to save my life. Rans, Darryl Bright. My dad, who apparently thought it was a brilliant plan to bind himself to a demon after I expressly told him not to, goddamnit!”

  The words rose in pitch and volume as I worked up a full head of steam.

  “Good heavens,” Edward said, looking alarmed. “You’re a vampire now, miss? That rather complicates matters.”

  “Okay,” I bit out. “Look. If everyone could just stop talking about things not related to why the hell my dad sold his soul to come here from... well... Hell—that would be awesome.”

  Dad was still staring at me like I’d stepped on a fluffy baby kitten and snapped its neck right in front of him. But at least he dragged himself together enough to actually answer.

  “I told you—I needed to warn you, Zorah. That creature who seduced Sasha’s mother is planning to come here and kill you!”

  “You mean Myrial?” I asked, just to confirm. “The one you knew as Grandpa Hawkins?”

  Dad’s eyes went hard. “Yes. The one who—” he paused and swallowed. “Who attacked Edward. He came back to the cottage a couple of days ago and... did something. Edward passed out, and then the demon bastard backed me against a wall and told me in great detail how he planned to come here and do the same thing to you that he’d done to Edward before. I knew I had to get out of Hell and warn you.”

  My eyes flew to the aging butler, who looked unhappy.

  “I’m afraid that as bodyguards go, I’ve not done a very good job of keeping my end up, miss,” Edward said apologetically. “I do apologize for that.”

  I closed my eyes and squeezed the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

  “Against demons, I’m afraid it was never a very fair fight to begin with, Edward,” Rans said.

  My hand fell back to my side. “Yeah, what Rans said. Dad’s still alive, so you certainly could have done worse.”

  “That being the case,” Rans went on, “Myrial’s murderous intentions toward us still aren’t exactly breaking news, I’m sorry to say.”

  Dad frowned. “He didn’t say anything about you. Just Zorah.”

  I blew out a sigh. “Doesn’t matter—it was implied. We’re kind of a package deal, now.”

  His eyes fell on me.

  “Yeah,” I continued, “so, you know how you thought it would be a great plan to bind your soul to a demon’s? Well, my soul’s bound to Rans’ soul in pretty much the same way. Except, demons are immortal and he’s not, so when I kick the proverbial bucket, I’ll be dragging him along with me for the ride.”

  “Or vice versa,” Rans added helpfully.

  Dad’s face went blank, signifying that I’d managed to initiate a catastrophic hard drive crash by dumping one too many crazy-ass things on him in too short a time. I turned back to Edward, so he could have a few moments to hopefully process everything.

  “You, though. I’m still not clear on why you stood by and let him do something so stupid,” I accused, aware that I was basically calling Edward stupid as well. He, too, had decided at some point to bind himself to a demon, but right now I was still too angry to feel bad about the backhanded insult I’d just hurled at him. “You could have just come here on your own to deliver the earth-shattering news that Myrial doesn’t like me.”

  Edward’s rheumy gaze grew somber. “I could have, miss—yes. However, there was some question about whether either of you would believe a word I said, given that I am bound to Nigellus.”

  I wanted to snap that a used car salesman could tell me Myrial had it in for me, and I’d believe them... because, duh. But the words caught in my throat. The truth was, Rans and I probably would have wondered if the message were part of some elaborate scheme by Nigellus, if it had come solely from Edward.

  “More importantly than that,” Edward continued, “with Myrial in Hell and obviously able to defeat any attempt we made at guarding your father, there was a fair amount of evidence that young Darryl here would in fact be safer on Earth. So I brought him.”

  “Which demon is he bound to?” I asked in a flat tone.

  “To Nigellus, of course,” Edward said quietly.

  “Of course,” I muttered.

  Apparently, Dad was finally ready to rejoin our regularly scheduled conversation. “What does it matter now, Zorah?” he asked, with a hint of bitterness. “I needed to get to you, and that was the price to do it. It’s done.”

  “What does it matter?” I echoed, conveniently ignoring the fact that I’d been all too ready to bind my soul to Nigellus once upon a time, if that’s what it took to get me out of Hell and back to Rans. “He could keep you alive for centuries, Dad! Centuries! Or he could kill you tomorrow if he happens to need a quick power boost! He can do anything he wants to you because he owns your fucking soul now!”

  Edward’s brow furrowed, the parchment-like wrinkles deepening. “Nigellus isn’t going to kill your father on a whim, Zorah. You must know that.”

  I threw my hands up. “Oh, really? What—did he give you his word about that? Because, hey, it’s not like he has a track record of manipulating or betraying people, right?”

  There was a certain hardness forming behind Edward’s gaze. It was, I imagined, the sort of steel belonging to a guy who would purposely place himself between a near-stranger and an angry demon, or joke about being blown up by a howitzer during World War I.

  “He’s never betrayed me, miss,” he said—and, yeah, there was a definite don’t-fuck-with-me-on-this vibe beneath Edward’s normally mild tones.

  I ignored it. “That you know of,” I shot back.

  Edward seemed to make an effort to shake himself back into his normal cloak of affability.

  “Well,” he said, “if he has, it’s never materially affected me over the course of more than three hundred and fifty years. So, would it truly count as a betrayal in the first place?”

  Rans shifted restlessly,
crossing his arms. “We’re not here to debate moral philosophy.”

  “Indeed not, sir,” Edward agreed. “The way I see it, there are two possibilities. First, Myrial may have decided the best bet is to eliminate every vampire except the one bound to him.”

  “So you already know about Guthrie, then,” I said.

  “Of course, miss,” Edward replied. “Nigellus briefed me fully upon his return to Hell. However, as I stated earlier, I wasn’t aware of your recent... transition. But it doesn’t affect the calculus in this instance. Eliminating Ransley would still suffice to eliminate the entire vampire population within the three realms, save one.”

  Rans’ shoulders were tense as he continued to lean against the wall. “Clearly, the second possibility is that Myrial made threats against Zorah in hopes that Darryl here would do exactly what he’s just done—come to Earth and make contact with her. Which would imply some sort of a trap.”

  “It’s certainly possible, sir,” Edward agreed without hesitation.

  “Great. If you knew that, then why do it?” I demanded, throwing my hands up again.

  Edward held my gaze without flinching. “Because I’m tasked with protecting your father, miss. Hell is demonstrably no longer safe for him. Earth may or may not be safe. That makes it the preferable option, at least for the moment.”

  I wanted to yell at him some more. Like... really wanted to. But in the end, how was I supposed to argue with that logic? Some of my anger leaked out like air from a deflating balloon, and I slumped in place, scrubbing at my eyes with one hand.

  “Fine,” I said. “You got him here safely and delivered Myrial’s message, for better or worse. So... now what are we supposed to do?”

  Rans pushed away from the wall, still looking decidedly tense. “Edward—you say that Nigellus returned to Hell immediately after shepherding the two of you through the gate?”

  Edward nodded. “He did, sir. His intention was to continue keeping Myrial tied up with the Council for as long as is feasible. And honestly, given the degree to which demons enjoy listening to the sound of their own voices, that could be some time.”