by R. S. Black
“Dora,” he said low, and I could hear him growing impatient.
“Three,” I finally admitted, though reluctantly.
“What happened to the fourth vamp?” His voice was silky, deadly.
Hair the shade of liquid gold framed his head like a halo. Eyes the color of purest indigo stared back at me through a face carved for sin. He pressed his heated body along the length of mine, every hard line trembling with suppressed rage. As mad as he clearly was, I could still feel his thickness growing against my thigh. He looked like some avenging angel. But this angel had fangs that wouldn’t hesitate to rip someone’s throat out. Namely mine.
“It’s dead,” I whispered.
“Who... killed... it... Pandora?” He ran his sharp teeth along the curve of my ear, warm breath fanning my neck, making me shiver. I was as turned on as I was scared.
I debated how best to put it.
He grabbed my bandaged arm, his thumb digging into the wound that had finally begun to close. I felt a rush of heat and knew he’d torn me open again.
“That bloody hurt. You bastard.”
“I will not ask again.”
I twisted my lips, wanting to spite him but knowing it served no purpose other than my own greedy need to make him beg for it. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t have a clue.”
He cocked his head to the side, hand relaxing. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“Would you like me to spell it out for you? I d-o-n-t know. Clear enough?”
Luc snarled, and I laughed, which startled him. I’m sure he’d been expecting me to pounce, not giggle.
“You know, you’re really cute when you show me your fangs. Show me again,” I teased him, running my hands up his bare chest.
“You’re sick. You know that, right?” He shook his head, mouth tilting at the corner.
I breathed a small sigh of relief, my joke cutting through the thick fog of tension. I don’t mind admitting having Luc’s entire focus fixed on you is creepy—and not in a creepy cool kinda way, either.
He combed his fingers through his hair, shoulders slumping. He looked tired, and I wasn’t sure if it was this situation, the carnival, or something else. I wasn’t going to ask either.
“The bodies still out there?”
I nodded. “I’ve got the clearing warded so no one stumbles across it.”
“Did you cut out the hearts yet?”
I thought about the kid and swallowed hard. Someday I will deal with all the things I’ve done and maybe even mourn the necessity of it. I wasn’t usually squeamish, but his death had unnerved me. What could have made a thirteen-year-old boy choose the life he’d chosen? A real waste of a promising life. “No.”
Luc hooked my chin. “What’s wrong?” His voice was soft, soothing.
I moved away from him, turned my back and hugged my arms to my chest, feeling cold inside. There wasn’t much humanity left in me—I was more demon than human—but I cherished what little bit there was. I knew Luc didn’t want me to admit to having feelings, but I did. So what if it made me weaker than the others? Or less Neph than I should be? Maybe I didn’t want to embrace my darkness the way the others did. if I had cut the kid’s heart out, I would have stepped completely over the gray line I’d always toed. I couldn’t bear the thought of giving up that last piece of me.
He slipped his arms around my waist, resting his head on my shoulder. “Dora, you can tell me.”
I closed my eyes and no longer cared what he or anybody else thought. “I can’t do it.” I turned and shoved him away, more mad at myself than him. “I can’t do it and I won’t, so don’t ask.”
He studied me, his face an unreadable mask. I couldn’t tell if he was angry, disappointed, or otherwise. “Can you guide us to the clearing?”
I clipped my head.
“Okay.” He nodded. “I’ll grab some of the others and meet you back here in ten minutes.”
My heart twisted, grateful that he wouldn’t try to pry the truth from me. I suspected he already knew it in some way, but I valued the respect he’d shown in not pursuing it further.
“I have to make a phone call first.”
“Grace?” I asked.
He nodded. “We can’t wait on her any longer. We need whatever intel she’s got, don’t you think?”
He really didn’t need to ask my permission. It was a courtesy for him to even do so. I was only second in command. He was Big Boss Man. But I nodded anyway.
“Yeah. If she doesn’t already know, then I think this would interest her.”
He started misting.
“Oh and, Luc,” I said softly. “Thanks.”
He vanished. If he heard, he never said.
Returning exactly ten minutes later with Vyxyn and Bubba in tow, Luc ushered me to his side. I quickly discarded the bandage and tape. The wound was semiclosed and no longer bleeding. The fact was I’d rather walk around with an open sore than have to stare at those awful smiling faces another second.
“Yeah?” I asked when I got close enough. He pulled me aside so we had a little privacy.
“Talked to Grace. Day after tomorrow, she wants to meet up. She asked for you. I said yes.”
“Luc, you know I hate the city.”
Demons have a natural aversion to confining spaces. Maybe it has something to do with the thought of being locked in the dark, or maybe with the curse we’re all destined to face. Whatever it is, any metropolitan area always feels like it’s crashing down on me. Choking me and hemming me in. I can handle my trailer. That’s home. It’s safe. Warm. But a city built up with skyscrapers and closed-in shops... that makes me break out in a cold sweat thinking about it.
Luc shoved his hands down his pockets. “Yeah, but I have a carnival to run. Be more than happy to trade responsibilities with you.”
I snorted. “Dream on.”
He shrugged. “Fact is, Dora, I trust you more than the others.”
And it really was as simple as that. I rolled my eyes.
“On the upside, you’ll get to visit with Grace. It’ll do you good.”
I sighed. “Yeah, I guess. I just wish she’d pick a different meeting spot. You’d think after all these years working together she’d know by now...”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Vyxyn sauntered up, tucking a strand of her bright bubblegum pink hair behind her ear. She drummed her lacquered pink nails on her hip. It was hard to say what caught the eye more, her fluffy cat-ears headband or her Alice-in-Wonderland-meets-circus-clown-on-acid attire. She was a visual kei, a meld of punk and Goth with a Japanese flair. “You two harpies done yappin’ yet? Or can I get back to my ride? Because I swear if my prey gets away before I’m done, I’ll kill one or both of you.” She snapped her gum.
Vyxyn meant it too. Her demon was Envy. She was doomed to covet what she didn’t have. With Luc and me, she craved our power over the family. Vyxyn didn’t like anybody. Not us, not anybody. She was a loner with brains enough to know she wouldn’t survive on her own. So she’d joined the family. Not out of loyalty but out of a sense of preservation.
To trust her was a mistake. Turn your back on her and you’d wind up on the floor, knife sticking out of your chest while she sat on you, pilfering everything right down to your last stitch of clothing.
“Shut it, Vyxyn,” Luc snarled. “We’ll leave when I say we’ll leave.”
Her green eyes grew wide, started to swirl.
I smiled.
“What’s your problem?” she snapped, clearly not happy.
Would it be terribly naughty of me to goad her on? I smirked, wanting to so bad.
Her nostrils flared, heavily mascaraed eyelashes narrowing into slits of unadulterated rage.
“And just where were you earlier? I ran past your station, and you weren’t there.” It hadn’t been her break time. I knew that because I made the schedules.
She said nothing.
Bubba punched her in the head. She stumbled. It’d been a love tap. If he’d wanted to hu
rt her, trust me, he could have ripped her head clean off with one of his blows. “Answer her,” he said with his perfectly accented country-boy twang.
I really wish I knew why the big brute had adopted that crazy accent. But Bubba’s was a mind better left unexplored.
Vyxyn’s eyes were no longer simply green. They were sun-warmed emerald with bands of jade throughout. She flexed her fist, staring at a calmly leering Bubba. She ground her jaw and took a step toward him. Vyxyn might try to flex on him, but I’d bet my soul she’d say nothing. Very few of us dared to confront him.
In so many ways, I hurt for Bubba, for that self-imposed exile of his. But in another, more selfish way, I’m grateful to never get too close. He’s an enigma I’m content to leave alone.
She turned the force of her anger back on me. “None of your business,” she spat.
I crossed my arms, my capacity for kindness nearing its breaking point. “Where’s Kemen?” I said, never taking my gaze off Vyxyn.
She rolled her eyes. “He begged off with a case of the lazies. You want, I can go get him. One can only hope he’ll pass out long enough to let a vamp get through and...”
If looks could kill, she’d be dead. My blood boiled, made me hot and jittery and... demonic. I wasn’t turning into a bat with wings, but I could feel my nails growing, sharpening into claws, my eyes swirling, my skin bristling with power. Lust could be a vengeful whore when she wanted to.
Luc must have noticed because he grabbed my elbow and looked at her. “Enough!” he roared. “Pandora, you lead the way. Bubba, you take the rear. Watch that our kitten doesn’t try anything stupid.”
I took a deep breath and turned from Vyxyn to Luc, focusing on his hand brushing up and down my arm in a soothing rhythm, and shoved the demon back down into shadow. Now was not the time to lose it.
“My pleasure,” Bubba said, his lips rolling into a startling smile, the type that makes your heart thump and your knees weak.
I shivered, disturbed to the point that if I’d been offered a choice, sleep with Bubba or take a dip in acid... I’d have chosen acid.
Chapter 8
It’d been two days since that night. I took deep, fortifying breaths in and out, trying to ignore the blare of car horns and the frenetic rush of pedestrians trying to get inside and away from the sudden spill of rain. Keeping an eye always on the scene before me and yet at the same time trying to block out as much as possible.
The day was gray, cloudy, and wet, and with a cold nip in the air, threatening to sleet before nightfall.
Any sane person would be in bed, reading a book, drinking a glass of wine, and vegging out. Instead I was wading through grimy puddles of water and glaring at anyone stupid enough to stare in my direction overly long.
I hadn’t had sex in three days. Wanna talk about raging PMS, I’m your girl. I was itchy, achy, and in a generally foul mood.
We’d buried the vamps. I’d ported the girl a hundred miles due east and dumped her on the side of the road so she’d be discovered. Luc and everyone else had voted to bury her, but after hearing her death-bed confession, the thought of forcing her parents to forever hold out the vain hope that their daughter was alive and safe and might one day return seemed beyond cruel. They might never thank me for it, but I’d given them the best option I could. The finality of knowing.
I’d come back to find Bubba cutting out the hearts. All but one, that is. I don’t know if Vyxyn had sensed my abhorrence to touch the boy or if she simply took perverse pleasure in doing something society found taboo, but she’d sat on the boy’s chest and carved out his heart with the glee of a woman on the verge of orgasm. There were times, like then, that I questioned if Vyxyn wasn’t rogue.
I’d never heard of a rogue willingly joining a family unit—Vyxyn had of her own free will—but I didn’t trust her. Neither did Luc. Still, we couldn’t turn a fellow Neph down. After all this time with little contact between outside bands, there was simply no way of knowing how many of us there were left. I really only knew of one other band, and it belonged to my brother. But his carnival wasn’t full of Neph; it was full of other creatures entirely. If I could, I’d send her to him. But that would be too cruel to them, even for a demon.
Though I might have to tolerate her, I didn’t like it.
My stomach lurched. The memory of the dissected boy had been enough to make me sick and beg off from working the past two nights, thus cutting me off from prey. Not only had I not had sex, but Billy still hadn’t shown up. Which was really beginning to torque me off. What kind of game was he playing?
I rubbed my nose, furiously trying to scrub the moodiness away before I met up with Grace. I needed a clear head, and thinking about the soap opera my life had become wasn’t helping.
Rounding the block, I left behind the shop quarter and entered the brownstone historic housing district. The houses were gingerbread-style, one home planted aside the next in a long, neat, and orderly row. Cars lined both sides of the street. Every hundred yards or so sat a small fenced-in tree. If it’d been sunny, I’ve no doubt kids would have been out playing hopscotch, jumping rope, or in general making pests of themselves.
I wrapped my trench coat tighter around my slim body, not chilled by the rain, but annoyed by it.
A gray shape darted across the street as it ran to one of several identical brownstones and disappeared into the safety of the warm house. Lucky bastard.
My mood was further spoiled by the fact that I couldn’t port now and chance the risk of humans spotting me. I had to walk or ride, and since I have a serious aversion to cars, walking it was.
I wiggled my toes in their steel-toed biker boots and snarled. My feet were freakin’ freezing.
I looked at the scrap of paper in my hand. 666 Elm Street. Cute, right? Yeah, I’d thought so too when I first read the address. Grace is sweet as sugar, but don’t let her demeanor or age fool you. She takes sadistic pleasure in goading me, though I’m sure she’d deny it.
One more block, and I’d be there.
I’d never met with her in this place before. Typically we met in safe zones and never the same building twice. Areas with high traffic and higher visibility, a place where if lives were threatened rescue could come. Not for me. For her.
Grace was a prominent member of the Order of Light, an organization tasked with the divine purpose of not only recording history, but effecting peace and change. I know, I know. It sounds so trite, but I happen to know firsthand that this group means what they say.
That’s not to say they don’t have a dark history. Most any group does. But they’ve changed for the better.
They’ve donated millions of dollars to needy programs and helped mandate water and agriculture regulations in impoverished nations. But as I’m sure you’ve already suspected, that’s not all they do. Their true task is in keeping balance and restoring order. Up until the time of the Neph conversion roughly six hundred years ago, give or take, they were historians of the truth and nothing more.
But times changed. Paras were growing bolder, stronger, to the detriment of the humans themselves, and millennia of sameness changed seemingly overnight.
The order was no longer content to sit back and watch. Paras were growing and multiplying. Where before there’d been few, now it seemed an explosion of them were cropping up everywhere. They were coming out, killing, showing the world that something strange dwelt below the surface.
That’s where all the bloody legends and myths of vamps and shifters started. Too many people had begun asking too many questions.
The order could no longer stand back and watch. They decided to be proactive. Over the years they’d learned not only the strengths of each subset of monsters but our weaknesses too. They’d developed tools, weapons capable of destroying us.
The order decided they would start engaging us baddies and wipe us out, the only exception being that if we agreed to change and fight on the side of truth we were to be left alone.
Well you can ima
gine how that little chat went. The paras laughed, scoffed. No way could a bunch of silly humans take us out. They’d quickly proved us very, very wrong.
If the war had been fair, if the order had fought us hand to hand out in open field, I doubt we’d be where we are today. They knew they couldn’t take us down like that. Back then we had no name for the style of fighting they’d engaged us in; today it’s known as guerilla tactics. Ambush.
Hundreds of years of war and the near extermination of the paras made us believers.
Luc had quickly decided being free was not nearly as important as keeping his family safe. Many of us despised him for that choice—Vyxyn for one—for forcing us to be accountable to humans. But it was that or die. And to be honest, I never minded turning over a new leaf the way other members of my band did.
I was tired of the life I’d been leading. Yes, I’d prefer to be accountable to me and only me, but then again it’s not such a bad gig to think I’m finally doing some good in this world.
Whoever accepted the task of fighting with the order had received a liaison, a middleman who speaks for us and them. We’ve been through eight.
Now Grace is our liaison. I’d never tell her to her face, but I think in her I’ve found a kindred soul. She is, in a word, remarkable. For years the order had killed and terrorized paras. They’d become, in essence, the schoolyard bully—submit or be killed—becoming almost totalitarian in their beliefs.
In stepped Grace, a jumpstart newbie with radical ideas. Somewhere along the way, the order forgot their mission, to protect and serve the people, she’d said. They’d grown drunk with power, becoming little better than those they’d killed. She’d suggested they turn to a promotion of peace between the species, killing only if justified, not simply for the sake of killing. Watching and recording history, but also there to keep a balance between good and evil.
The ruling body of the order had agreed it was time to call a ceasefire. There weren’t many paras left. Stragglers, a few here and there. But nothing major enough to cause concern. Groups we could easily take care of if they grew out of hand.
Grace had helped usher in a new era of peace. It could still be dicey at times, but a million times better than what it used to be.
