Crimson Night (Night Series Book 1)

by R. S. Black

  “How did a priest of death find us, Pandora?”

  I crossed my legs at the ankle and leaned back against the headboard. My heart thudded fast, picturing Billy as I’d last seen him. I had nothing to offer on that subject. I was as confused as Luc. I shrugged, taking a drink of the red wine. It was cool, spicy, and a sweet balm to the burn in my stomach.

  “What did he do to you?”

  I recounted everything to the point where Billy had found me, then I paused. It had been nagging at me for some time, but I finally voiced my thoughts. “You know, Billy aside—”

  Luc raised his brow. “Billy?” There was a chilly edge to his voice.

  “Huh?” I raised my eyes from the glass of wine to him, not sure why he sounded so peeved and bristly. I waved it aside. “Priest, whatever. Aside from all that... what was a vampire doing here tonight?”

  He watched me for another tense moment, and again I wondered what was wrong with him. He was acting all weird and moody, and I didn’t like it. Finally he blew out a deep breath, as if attempting to gather his thoughts.

  “Bubba and I wondered the same thing,” he said, sounding almost normal again. But there was still a betraying hint of anger quivering behind those words.

  I sipped on my wine, mulling it over. There was an unspoken hatred between all things parasite—our all-encompassing way of grouping by name those things not quite human—and Neph.

  To understand why, you’d have to go way back in history. History bores me. I lived through it, so I rarely feel the need to revisit it. Let’s put it this way... what you think you know, you don’t. A vampire is not some blood-sucking fiend who can bite someone, exchange blood, and create more baby vampies.

  That’s a romanticized version of the ugly truth. But there is always some truth in myth. And I guess to understand the paras, you first have to understand their creators.

  Here’s the shorthand account of what’s what in monster society. Everything starts with us, the demons. One day a group of angels in the heavens saw the daughters of man. They lusted after them. They mated. Some were raped, some were willing, but in the end children were born from the unions. The Nephilim. My people.

  As punishment for their crimes, the angels were cast out of heaven. Once on earth, their names were changed to demon.

  The Father was so incensed by the depravation of his creation that he had them chained and thrown into the fiery pit. AKA Hell.

  Though the demons had been cast out, they were plenty powerful in their own right. Even chained, they still wished to rule earth by Lucifer’s side—aka Satan—so they created minions, or another name for them, lower-caste demons—LCD for short—much the same way God created Eve from Adam.

  The LCDs are a little like us Neph. We all have the same patriarchal lineage. But unlike us, the LCDs have no humanity within them to battle the inherent evil that is a demon’s nature. They are pure bad and mindless little lackeys for their masters.

  And now we’re back to where we started, the paras. In one form or another, they are all the creation of the fallen ones that mortals petitioned power for.

  Who knows why the humans make the deal? Whatever the case might be, there is always a price to pay.

  Loss of will.

  A demon cannot force you to sign on the proverbial dotted line. But once you do, there’s no going back.

  It is with the LCDs that the humans make the trade, their human souls for earthly power.

  Demons require total and absolute allegiance. You are no longer your own. Remember that song: signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours? Yeah, something like that.

  It’s the ultimate irony, really. People crave power and total domination, and what they wind up becoming is whipping posts for the homicidal, masochistic, sadistic perversions of a demon’s will.

  So next time you think about dancing with the Devil... just an FYI, I wouldn’t. Can’t say I didn’t warn ya.

  Anyway, you become what you crave. That’s the stripped-down, simplified version of it.

  You want beauty, wealth... The demon turns you vamp. You want power... shifter. Long life... zombie.

  But of course it’s never what you expect. Vampires aren’t immortal. They drink blood, but their canines aren’t much longer than a house cat’s. More often than not, you’ll see a vamp feeding with a syringe or razor. They live long lives compared to mortals. Two, three hundred years, but they age. Slower than normal, but still age, nonetheless. They’re strong, but nothing like us.

  In short vamps, have everything to fear from us, and we have very little to fear from them. Which is why they usually make themselves scarce when we’re around.

  I looked at Luc. He was bent at the waist, elbows resting on his knees, looking out at nothing.

  “Don’t you think that’s weird?” I finally said. “That makes vamp number three in less than a month?”

  He rubbed his jaw, sighed, and sat back, piercing me with one of his frosty stares. I had to admit it was good to have edgy Luc back. Moody guy weirded me out for reasons I couldn’t quite fathom.

  “Yeah, but they were all young. Kids with too much balls and little bite. Coincidence?”

  I didn’t believe that, and neither did he. Coincidences got you killed. My weird-dar said vamps and now priest were somehow connected. Don’t press me to try to explain why. I couldn’t if I tried. It was a hunch. Nothing more.

  I growled, the synapses in my brain unable to find the connection between A and Z.

  “What we need is to talk with Grace.”

  I cocked my head. “Hasn’t she contacted you yet? We’ve been here two days already.”

  Luc threw his hands up, stood, and stretched. “Not yet. Second she does, I’ll let you know.”

  He was halfway out the bedroom when I asked, “By the way, did you see anyone else out there?”

  The feral gleam was back in his eyes the minute I mentioned it. “No, but if I find him, I’ll kill him.”

  Then he was gone, the scent of sulfur the only proof he’d ever been there. He was pissed, moody, and frankly, I didn’t know how to deal with that. No doubt, however, that he was out there somewhere close, watching, maybe hoping Billy would return.

  I hated to admit it, but so was I.

  For entirely different reasons.

  Chapter 5

  I shoved my hands into my pockets, watching the crowd through slitted eyes. A northerly wind had blown in. It was brutally cold tonight, but that didn’t seem to stop anyone. The carnival was in full swing, a macabre repeat of last night.

  On autopilot, I watched rider after rider get on the big wheel, repeating the same old lines over and over. Be careful, don’t stick your hand out the sides, don’t swing the basket... blah, blah, blah.

  Part of me kept hoping I’d catch a glimpse of Billy. Another part was hoping he’d stay away. Permanently. Why was I so obsessed with him?

  After a sleepless night, I’d come to one absolute conclusion. Billy had to die. He couldn’t be allowed to walk around, not while he knew where we were. How to find us. That was too dangerous. Not just for me, but my entire family.

  Even so, I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else taking his life. I would have to be the one to do it.

  I huffed. How crappy was it that I’d finally found someone who intrigued me beyond sanity, only to realize I couldn’t keep him?

  Sometimes my life really sucked.

  Billy was bad news gift wrapped in a gorgeous package. Last night he’d held a knife to my throat. That was proof enough that the big bad wolf wasn’t out there buying me roses and chocolate. More likely he was loading down that chiseled frame of his with all sorts of weapons meant to make a girl like me squeal.

  I leaned against the fence, crossed my booted feet at the ankles and, yes, sulked. Lust and I were in a foul mood. If the outside reflected the inside, then I was wearing a big fat sign that read: beware the dog. Last night I’d been all frills and sex; tonight I was in leather.

  I wasn’t on
the hunt. Lust had charged the juice last night with Luc and the vamp, and yet it hadn’t been enough. Not nearly. She’d tagged Billy. Whether the man wanted me or not didn’t matter to her. It was almost pathetic the way she wanted him.

  I was keeping Lust’s more violent tendencies in check, but just barely.

  “Hey, baby.”

  I looked up.

  A kid, no older than seventeen, staggered up next to me. Alcohol strong on his breath, blue eyes glassy and riddled with bloodshot veins. He gave me a drunken leer, taking his time rolling his gaze up and down my body.

  “You’re looking pretty fine tonight.” He hiccupped and chuckled, one of those laughs only the severely drunk find funny. I lifted a brow, my fingers clenched convulsively at my side. “I got a sweet room in the mountains, real private-like.” He smiled, touched my necklace, and let it slide between his fingers.

  Anger foamed in my belly and spewed up my throat. I narrowed my eyes. “What are you thinking, Junior?” My voice was soft but cold. He was too drunk to notice. If he touched me one more time, I would claim no responsibility for my actions.

  “Wanna take a ride on the Wayne train?” He wiggled his eyebrows in a way that made me think of a Jim Henson puppet. “Promise you’ll love it.” He leaned in, his nose inches from my neck. Not quite touching, but almost there.

  I bared my teeth, revealing the baby fangs I normally kept hidden. They weren’t as sharp or as long as Luc’s, but they could be disconcerting.

  The rancid smell of STD was all over him. It spikes the sweat sliding out the pores with a musty, rotted scent. Driven by Lust, I’d screwed a sick stick before, but it was gross. I couldn’t get diseases, but if you’ve ever seen something like that, then you know what I mean.

  “How could I possibly resist when you ask me like that?” I sneered.

  He chuckled, so flippin’ sure of himself.

  “But oh, what a pity. I have laundry to do tonight. Too bad.” I cocked my hip and gave him what I thought was a clear vibe to shove off.

  Wayne Train had the nerve to grab me by said hips and push me farther into the fence. He ground his erection against me, his hand trailing down my arm. “I always get what I want.” His fetid breath smacked me in the face.

  Do you ever have those moments when you’re so angry that you grow calm? Like the bands of a hurricane are swirling inside your body, but you’re the eye? You’re danger incarnate, but you don’t look it?

  I smiled, shimmied my hands up his arms, and pressed my breasts tight to his chest. “Ohh, when you put it like that—”

  His eyes zipped to the tops of my flattened breasts.

  I grabbed his face in a punishing grip. He squirmed but was still too piss drunk to realize how much danger he was in. Almost made me feel sorry for the little maggot. Almost.

  I kissed him, mashing my mouth to his in such a way that it forced him to open up or be bruised. He whimpered, and I felt a rising thrum of fear override his senses.

  I sucked his tongue into my mouth. His hands moved frantically all over my body but not to draw me closer. He was trying to push me away.

  Lust laughed.

  Tongues are such a soft, delicate piece of tissue. So many nerve endings. If you tease the right way, tonguing can be a delicious experience.

  I bit him, my fangs slicing deep.

  He screamed, but the night was a cacophonous spill of noises. No one heard him. If I wanted to, I could kill him. I squeezed his arm to the point right before a break. He moaned, and it reeked of the greasy, slimy stench of fear. If I kept it up, he’d piss himself.

  Pathetic human, Lust snarled.

  Lucky for him, I had no intention of killing this night. I shoved him away, hard enough that he nearly tripped over his feet.

  I licked my lips, tasting his blood on them, and spit. It’s not that I mind blood—most demons enjoy the taste of it on occasion—but when it’s riddled with disease, it’s a little like trying to drink expired milk.

  His eyes were wide, frantic. As if my kissing him had burned the alcohol right out of his system, he was hyperaware and holding on to his mouth like he feared it might fall off. Blood trickled down the sides of his chin.

  Poor thing. He was in a load of proverbial poo now. Blood was a very bad accessory to be wearing in a place like this. Made all the baddies shiver and shake.

  Wayne Train turned and ran.

  “Hey!” I cupped my mouth. “Where you going, baby? Thought you liked it rough.”

  He didn’t turn back, and I laughed, really laughed. Of course Lust was acting petulant and demanding I go and finish him off. But I was sure Junior had learned his lesson. No need for added violence. So I ignored her.

  My neck prickled, tightened. Like someone’s hot gaze was boring a hole in my head. I turned and studied the blackness beyond my ride. The trees were thick with shadows and danced with the wind.

  I rubbed the back of my neck, patting the fine hairs down. I could see nothing, but I felt it. It wasn’t a feeling of danger, but it wasn’t exactly comforting either.

  Frowning, I walked to the game booth nearest me.

  The stall was empty. Kemen’s booth wasn’t one of the more active tents. Luc had set him up with the water-balloon game. But that wasn’t what kept the booth almost perpetually empty; it was the fact that there were no prizes to be had for the winner.

  Might seem like a crazy thing to do, but the truth was, we weren’t concerned with making money. Each member of this family had to contribute. For most it was a cakewalk. Bubba loved his time at the platform. Luc loved whatever it was that Luc did. Us girls... well, we just loved being the center of attention.

  Kemen was different. His demon was Sloth. In layman terms, that meant he was lazy as hell and couldn’t be trusted with running an active booth. If he wasn’t sleeping, he was playing video games. On the one hand, I envied the ease of that demon. On the other, I couldn’t imagine always being so tired I could barely bring myself to shave, let alone shower each day.

  He was a Captain Sparrow-type, with greasy hair and clothes that looked wrinkled, faded, and unwashed for who knows how long, but still very bangable. Or maybe that was just me.

  Kemen sat on a chair resting on its hind legs, hands clasped in his lap, chin on his chest, eyes closed, and snoring louder than an electric band saw. I kicked his feet, knocking the chair down, making him jump and grab his chest. I grinned. He narrowed amber eyes, shoveling blunt fingers through his cropped brown hair.

  “Pandora,” he growled, “you scared the crap out of me.”

  Hair jutted out in odd angles around his head. He yawned, stretching arms high above his head and then groaned.

  Gah. Just watching him was making me tired. Probably why the humans tended to avoid his booth like the plague. I loved Kemen, but the man was a real downer.

  “You awake now, Rip Van Winkle, or do I need to go get a bucket of ice water and dump it on you?”

  He smacked his lips. “Funny.”

  “Listen, spell me will ya? I gotta take a walk.”

  He stood, gave another long lion’s roar of a yawn, shook himself as if he was trying to wake up, then nodded.

  I eyed him. “Or do you think you’re awake enough to handle it? Hate to come back and find the humans dead because you passed out and pressed the wrong button.”

  “I swear you nettle me on purpose. You a wise ass like this with everyone else?”

  “Just you, baby.” I winked.

  “Don’t know why I put up with you.”

  “’Cause you love me.” I batted my lashes at him and gave him my best cheeky smirk.

  He snorted, then walked off muttering under his breath.

  I laughed. Of all of us, Kemen was the sweetest. Sloth was lazy, not dangerous. He could kill—he was still part demon, after all—but he’d take sleep over death any day of the week.

  I was getting ready to head back into the woods when I was again overcome by the feeling that I was being watched.

  I
looked and this time... I saw something.

  Chapter 6

  I narrowed my eyes, knowing the shadow that danced outside the shelter of light wasn’t shadow at all. The familiar shiver of paras pulsed across my skin like static. The lump of darkness separated into three distinct shapes.

  One moved forward, the others to the sides. Like a lion on the hunt, they circled their unsuspecting prey.

  The ebb and flow of life and death is as natural to me as breathing. Balance and counterbalance. And yet there are two types of death. One that is preordained, set in ink, and nothing and no one can change it. It is meant to be, and it will happen. It doesn’t matter how many scenarios you run through; they all lead to the same end result.

  Then there’s the unnatural kind. Murder. Death before its time. Those you can change. This was one of those times.

  The prey was a woman in her early twenties, not pretty, not ugly either. Average. Dispensable. Someone easily overlooked until it was too late. Mussed-up brown hair, library-chic glasses, gray sweater. A typical college student on the cusp of making a mark in the world.

  Like a ripple of water moving in reverse, the circle tightened, the shadows almost within arm’s reach.

  She looked up, eyes wide, glancing around and nostrils flaring as if she could smell the danger. She huddled a little closer to the safety of people in front of her. She didn’t talk to them, so I knew she wasn’t part of that group. But there was strength in numbers, and somewhere deep down she sensed the threat.

  It always fascinated me how much like animals humans became when you stripped away the thin veneer of civility to expose their baser elements.

  Her baggy, carefree style of dress said she wasn’t vain. The grayish pallor to her skin said she was more often indoors than out, likely studying, as the bags under her eyes attested to. She fidgeted a lot; she wasn’t comfortable in crowds, which meant her friends had probably dragged her out here.

  She had no darkness. She was light. Light doesn’t mean someone’s infallible, perfect, all that’s wholesome. I mean, whatever. That’s about as delusional as believing that once you get married he’ll change. Dream on.