Altered: A Beyond the Brothel Walls Novel

by Ryans, Rae Z.

  A lump reformed in my throat, and I swallowed hard. “We should find Korrigan.”

  “I mean it, Cain.”

  Maybe I lacked faith that we’d ever find Lily, or take down Boric, but it wasn’t a lack of faith in him. Among us all, the weak link was me.

  Snow buried the ruins of the train wreck, but we navigated with keener senses. An empty grave greeted us, but no sign of Petre remained there, except for bloodied snow.

  “This must be where she buried him.” Dorian pointed to the ground.

  “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

  Dorian’s brow crinkled.

  I sighed. “Never mind.”

  We spent the next few hours searching for fresh tracks, but found none. No signs of a struggle, or even crimson-tinged snow, littered the snowy landscape indicating a recent fight. Dorian and I shared a confused glance, but weeks had passed since his death. Layers of snow could have covered old evidence, and heavy winds could’ve explained why Korrigan’s footprints disappeared. My gaze lifted to the trees. Or she’d looked to higher roads. Yet the trees and their boney branches appeared undisturbed from their eternal winter.

  “Did you ever consider joining the ABDA?” he asked, sifting the top layer of snow away with his boot. “You have an impeccable eye and fast logic, babe.”

  Petre could’ve awoken minutes or days after my sister and cousin had departed the area. Either way with the sun setting and the nearest town hours away, we would have to rough it for the night and renew our efforts come morning.

  “Your thoughts right there. Perfect example,” he said, brushing the snow from his hands. “See you still think, like an Elioud, whereas I wouldn’t have considered the time.”

  “Please tell me that you’ve considered the evidence clearly pointing toward a vampire in the vicinity?” I kicked an empty blood bag. Too many could be’s were piling up, though.

  Dorian stuck out his tongue. “Actually, I think Petre is the vampire.” He tossed an armful of snow at my feet. “When this shit is done, if you want, you should at least consider it.”

  “What am I considering again? Becoming a vampire?” I scoffed at the idea.

  “Becoming a detective,” he replied, squinting. “I’m already short-staffed in Halifax. Think about it, babe, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, and started hefting armfuls of snow.

  “Nope, let me do that.” He knocked the snow from my hands and proceeded to bend down and wiggle his ass at me. “I know. I’m hopeless.” He unearthed a door a few minutes later and flung it in my direction. “Sit on that and look pretty.”

  “Pretty?” I placed my hands on my hips and cocked a brow.

  “Oh please, you’re bloody gorgeous. Don’t you know that?”

  At his compliment, my face burned, despite the chilly wind cutting through me.

  He pressed his lips into a slight smile, but it faded quickly. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  I rubbed my arms. A time ago, I would have believed him, but not after the scars.

  Dorian shucked his flannel off and tossed it at me. He added, “Put that below your sexy arse.”

  Obeying, I balled up the shirt and sat on it. His thoughts scattered, leaping back and forth between Korrigan and Petre and taking down Boric. Fast at work, Dorian discovered more wreckage, so at least we didn’t have to sleep in the open wilderness.

  “What do you think caused all this?” he asked, pointing to the crushed bits of metal and strewn luggage.

  “Explosion of some sort.”

  “Most people wouldn’t jump to that conclusion.” He scratched his head. “The official report said it was a derailment. Why do you say otherwise?”

  With a groan, my stiff muscles unraveled, and I leapt to my feet. Joining him, I pointed to the metal. “This is melted, and the train cars are iron. The heat required to do this kind of damage means this was the impact, or point of explosion.”

  Dorian grabbed my face and pressed his lips to mine. “Fuck me. Smart and sexy.” His hands dropped to my waist before sliding below the layers of clothing. “You know I want to toss you in there and bend you over, right?”

  Black birds flew into the air behind us, and I watched their ascent. “I’ll stop distracting you, then.” Snow glittered along the path toward the ledge. My gaze stuck to the horizon, spanning over the cliff. Ocean waves crashed where New York had once stood.

  Painting the sky a vibrant hue of purple and fiery reds, the sun descended on another day. I sighed at the dismal beauty, and glanced back to Dorian, building a fire near our hollowed out shelter. Green eyes blinked beneath his mink lashes, and my hand rubbed my heart. A long road awaited us. An even longer, windier road unfolded before me.

  “Hey babe, I’m just about finished.”

  I heard him, but stared out into the watery ripples, waiting for my purpose to leap from the waves with a flashing sign. How did I let go of the past? Was it as simple as looking to the future? Dorian’s boots crunched behind me. His arms slid and squeezed me from behind, and his chin rested on my shoulder.

  “Puts everything into perspective doesn’t it?” He pointed toward the crashing whitecaps. “How something so beautiful can destroy. Letting go isn’t about forgiveness, not by itself, Cain. It’s about accepting that we’re not responsible for another person’s deeds—good or bad.”

  “You’re wiser than anyone gives you credit for.” I leaned my head against him. “I’ve blamed myself for a long time, but Boric and the masters did those things to me, not because I deserved them. They were...are sick.”

  “They’ll still rot for what they did.” Dorian stepped toward the makeshift shelter, but I stayed. “I promise you, Cain, and I don’t make promises I can’t keep. They’ll pay.” Dorian turned around and scooped me up. “Please let me be the knight in shining armor you deserve. I’m not perfect, and I don’t shine, but let me avenge you.”

  “You’ve already saved me more than you know.” I fastened my arms around his neck. “You’ve restored my faith too.”

  He ducked us into the fireside shelter, laid us down, and buried makeshift blankets he’d found in luggage around us. Elioud felt the biting chill; I felt warmth where Mother Nature had assaulted me with her wintery temper. Neither of us spoke. Words seemed more and more meaningless once I had allowed his love and he mine.

  Trains chugged along the tracks every few hours, releasing their hissy steam in the distance, but those were the only signs of life. The long trek had worn even his bones; although, Dorian hadn’t verbally complained. I saw his winces and the relief following each stretch or popping bone in the firelight. We found sleep quickly in each other’s arms and awoke to cracking tree branches.

  I shot from my sleepy eyed reverie and bounded toward the noises, but halted a few steps from the crude campsite. Already awake, Dorian dragged himself from the fire, craning his neck toward the sounds. The echo…I hung my head and shook.

  “Babe,” he started, but there were no words.

  “Why aren’t you investigating?”

  “For one, you needed rest. Two, I wasn’t about to leave you here alone. Three, I have no fucking idea where the noises are coming from because of the echo.” Dorian melted snow over the embers. The steam rose as the water boiled. Two canteens sat near the fire. “Plus, you have to drink.”

  But I’d survived on air and sand.

  He added, “Found these. They’ll sustain you better than hot water.”

  Dated pre-collapse, two MREs rested in his large palms. Dorian prepared them both and forced me to eat the strange roasted chicken. Certain the food would rear its head later; I buried some when he turned his head. Long gone were the days of Mother’s home cooked meals that stuck to the ribs. I closed my eyes and breathed in the salty air.

  “We’ll find her, and now, I don’t have to worry about you toppling over from exhaustion or starvation.”

  His chapped lips brushed my temple, and I turned into his embrace. Who would have thought seven months ago m
y life would have altered forever. Dorian interrupted my trudging existence, and faster than a gunshot, I fell not from grace, but toward the beauty of God’s creations. Laughter shook me. God gifted me the one notion I understood: death.

  “I love that sound,” Dorian whispered into my hair. “The world’s gone to shite, but your laughter wipes the ache away.”

  My chin lifted from his chest. My thumb skimmed his dry lips, hidden beneath the bushy whiskers. “You’d make Al jealous.”

  Dorian’s barked laughter shook the trees. “Who is Al?”

  I shook my head. “From Home Improvement? Al Borland?”

  Dorian blinked emerald eyes and smirked.

  “You need to get out more, sweets. C’mon.”

  Before the Sundering, most demons had lived normal lives. Those of us beneath the masters had to earn the freedoms. For the free, my kind had blended into society and few humans suspected their neighbors, friends, and lovers were anything but ordinary humans. Magic helped when we didn’t age past thirty, or for some demons, there was possession. Those demons weren’t Elioud, though, but from Hell itself.

  I insisted on helping with camp clean up, and Dorian grumbled.

  “Getting alpha on me?”

  He snorted and tossed a cushion at my head.

  “Should I pack it into the car, in case we’re here another night.” I motioned toward the half of a train car we’d used for shelter.

  The back of his glossy head nodded, and a chopping sound echoed off the trees again. He froze, cocking his head. Birds flung themselves into the air, and I eyed their ascension.

  We dropped everything and in unison, we called, “Korrigan?” My heart pounded and my legs lunged toward where the birds had flown.

  Dorian yelled, “Over here.”

  And I followed the sound of his thick, resounding voice off the ledge of a small cliff and landed near another pile of charred wreckage. The snow there also bled deep crimson and tapered into splatters of light pink. On closer inspection, more of the empty, plastic blood-tinged bags scattered the broken surface.

  “Bagged blood,” he said, stating the obvious. “All Petre’s trains carry it for vampires.”

  I scratched my chin. But had Petre caused the bloody scene or had Angel? Dorian pointed at the ground. All I saw before me was disaster, but he saw a crime scene.

  “Fresh footsteps over here, but they’re tiny. I think they’re Korrigan’s, but…”

  Cracking returned. Birds, in a new location, fled toward the skies. I grasped his hand, tugging him in the direction of the racket, and followed the trail. My legs protested climbing the hill. I found a second set of footprints and pointed to them. Dorian’s hand dropped to his gun. We dove into the tree line, insane laughter replacing the crackling of wood.

  Male laughter, deep and throaty, reached our ears, and my brow arched.

  “What the hell?”

  Shoulder length hair blew in the slight breeze, and the ebony locks glistened in the morning sun.

  I whispered, “Is that Petre?” Not much taller than a kid and waif-like. His quick and jagged movements were a blur to my squinting eyes. Pale skin appeared sallow and sunken in around his cold, gray eyes, creating a stark contrast between the man I’d never met and the one I’d pictured in my mind.

  Dorian said, “Yeah.”

  Petre stood near a makeshift cabin; well, the ruins of one. Half of the structure remained intact, but soot and snow covered it. He wore denim jeans and a formfitting t-shirt. No demon could’ve withstood these elements without protection, except a vampire or Archangel. Understanding their connection to Dorian made me realize why God created such a powerful race to assist him.

  “That’s the gist of it,” he replied to my thoughts.

  Approaching the estranged vampire, our steps slowed, each crunch overpowering my breathless lungs and hammering heart. Tools clattered against one another, and Petre spun around. A blink of the eye and he bowed before us, crossing the distance before my brain could’ve processed the information. I scrambled backward, but Dorian clenched my hand tighter and inched in front of me. What had he sensed?

  Petre knelt at his feet. “Death, you have come for me at last.” His thick accent and slow words blended into a rich and formal tone.

  Brow raised, I slid from behind Dorian’s wide shoulders. We were roughly the same height and build, and I doubted the action had fooled Petre into forgetting there were two of us. His uncanny alpha behavior tickled my heart, but I held my own power.

  Dorian glanced to me and shook his head, before he asked, “Petre Von Baron, where is Angelica?”

  “I know no one by that name.” His slender chin lifted into the air and revealed a strange, faint scar below his right cheekbone shaped almost like part of a horseshoe.

  “Korrigan?” I offered. “Angel? Korri?”

  Petre shook his head.

  “A woman, no larger,” I held my hand to Dorian’s waist, “than a child passed this way. Long, brown hair? Big amber eyes?”

  He chewed his lip, glanced away, and then shook his head again.

  “She’s a vampire and has peculiar eyes like mine.” Skin tingled and warmed, and I dropped my façade.

  “The devil’s eyes?” As he enunciated the word devil, his gaze sparked.

  My breath blew out in a steady stream. This is leading us nowhere. Petre Von Baron stood before us, but he should have recalled the one who sired him, let alone the woman he loved.

  A strange grin lit his angular face. “I tied the witch to a tree and am cutting the driest lumber, but there isn’t much with all the snow.”

  I snapped, “For what?” I tensed my jaw

  Dorian’s hand draped my shoulder and shoved me back again. “Petre,” he said. “Who am I?”

  Korrigan’s strangled cries reached our ears, and Petre glanced over his shoulder. At least we had her location, although she was still hidden from our view.

  “You are Death, God’s Angel of Vengeance.”

  Wrong. I snorted.

  “Have we met before?” Dorian shielded his eyes from the rays of morning light poking through the barren landscape.

  Petre chewed his lip. Luminosity reflected from his extended fangs. “No.”

  I nudged Dorian. Something wasn’t right, and a sinking, falling, sensation nagged at my gut. Dorian’s fingers grasped and squeezed my hand. “Let me try,” I said to him, before turning my attention to Petre. “Tell me, what year is it?”

  “1845.”

  “Fucking-A.” I palmed my face. No wonder he hadn’t a clue who any of us were.

  Dorian added, “And what country are you in?”

  “My beloved Romania,” Petre said with a wide toothy grin, extending his hand and swinging his axe.

  Either he played us, or the change backfired. Neither thought eased the ache growing in my stomach. I covered my lips and muttered, “Then, why are we speaking English?”

  Dorian coughed and turned wide but amused eyes on me. My brows rose, and I bit my smile.

  I asked Petre, “Do you recall Tomas?”

  “No, the name is not familiar.”

  Out of ideas, my shoulders shrugged, and my brain attempted to process the strange event. Something had gone wrong, evident by the peculiar behavior of a man who’d lived for well over three hundred and fifty years as a cursed vampire. His brother’s mind wasn’t altered, either, although he acted strange too. I chewed my lip. Then again, his curse was to live as a horse, and he was living as a human in an apocalyptic world.

  “Let me help,” I offered my hand, “take me to her.”

  Petre jumped back and screamed, “Do not touch me, witch.” The axe sliced through the air.

  I knocked his weapon to the ground.

  “You run with the devil’s brood, Death. Kill him.” Petre lunged for me.

  My hands sparked purple fire.

  Dorian slid between us, placing a palm to each of our chests to push us apart, before waving his hands in the air. Emerald ey
es pled with me to stop. Dorian thought, “Put out the damned fire, babe. I got this. Keep your mouth shut.”

  I knelt to the ground, maintaining eye contact with Petre. He wouldn’t take the upper hand from me. I dipped my hands into the snow and extinguished the fireballs.

  Dorian reached down, grasped the axe, and flung it into the trunk of a tree. A smirk played at those kissable lips as he brushed his hands. “Show me your witch, and leave Cain be.” Dorian placed his hand on Petre’s shoulder. “Witch or not, he’s mine. Understand?”

  Petre didn’t flinch, but his slanted gray eyes bore into me. “He stays.” He spat at my feet and wiped his arm on his black shirt.

  Dorian nodded, his brows pinched together. We had wandered into a real predicament, and I read his face clearly. How the hell would we get out of this mess, and the more intriguing question, how the hell did this happen?

  Vampires and their problems were the least of my worries. Korrigan’s well-being weighed on my mind, and I connected the dots. Petre meant to burn her body, as they once had in the eighteen hundreds. Burnt alive seemed like a horrendous death, and only a lunatic would torture a soul, innocent or damned.

  Dorian faced me; I cupped his rough face and risked a quick kiss.

  “She’ll be fine,” he whispered, and rubbed his nose against mine. “Don’t make any sudden movements and stay put. He can kill you.”

  I nodded, rubbing my arms before wrapping them around my chest, as Dorian’s boots crunched a path toward a house.

  “All right, Petre, show me your witch.”

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  Dorian

  Cain scowled, holding himself. I stepped backward toward Petre. My palm ran over my face. What the bloody hell had we walked into?

  “She is out back,” Petre said.

  Clearing my throat, I spun around. My boot caught in the snow. “Shite,” I muttered, and reached for it, but it wasn’t there. At least I didn’t feel the bitter ice biting through my sock, but where had it gone? My brow rose, and my gaze flickered to Cain, who shook his head and released a cloud of condensation into the air.