by Jan Dockter
But no matter how fast she ran, or how good it felt, Ashe could not catch up with Peter. She tried to reach out to him with her mind, to track his movements through what he was seeing. She caught fleeting glimpses of him through the trees but even those grew farther apart until she was entirely alone. It was clear that she still had a lot of learning to do before she could be a match for the likes of Peter.
Ashe reached out her mental net again, scanning the forest for Peter’s consciousness. She was slowly getting the hang of using her new powers, practicing whenever she could and mostly on Peter. She had learned not to try while he was driving, however, after a close encounter with a tree trunk caused by her trying to project images into his mind. The car had been spared, luckily, but Ashe promised after that not to exercise her abilities while Peter was in operation of any vehicles or in particular need of his mental faculties. This game of tag, however, was a different matter. She would use whatever advantage she had to catch him.
There was something alive, running fast ahead of her. It wasn’t Peter but it caught Ashe’s attention and she changed course to pursue it. It had a small, thudding heartbeat and its blood was pumping fast. Ashe could almost taste the fear coming off it in waves. It must have known a predator was on its tail.
Her fangs extended and her vision tunneled towards the rustling underbrush ahead of her. Ashe was spurred on by her hunger for fresh blood. Until now she had survived on the jars of blood Peter had packed with them before leaving Morris, but the jars had been on ice in a cooler in the back of the car and tasted of death. Ashe wanted live blood, and soon she would get it.
She pounced on her prey, catching it with her new lightning quick reflexes and sinking her fangs into its throat. The creatures struggled in her grip then was still. Sweet, warm blood welled up in Ashe’s mouth. It was a wild taste, like of the forest itself. She could barely believe how good it felt to finally, truly feed on a living animal. Ashe drank until the blood stopped flowing, and only then did she come back to her senses. When she did, she was aware of two things. One was the animal still gripped in her red-stained hands, a fluffy cottontail rabbit like one of those from a fairy tale but with its head at an unnatural angle and its glassy eyes staring unseeing up at her. The second thing she became aware of was the wolf.
It crouched between the trees, watching her with the rabbit. Ashe was not scared though. She could sense the understanding between them, two predators who knew well both the value of life and the necessity of killing. She tossed the dead rabbit towards the wolf.
“Go ahead,” she said.
The wolf eyed her for a while, its pointed ears twitching, then sauntered up to the rabbit and grasped it between its jaws. It turned around and disappeared back into the forest like a shadow. Ashe turned the other way. She still had to catch Peter.
Luckily he was not far, leaning back against a tree looking like he had all the time in the world.
“You’re slow,” he said before sprinting off. This time Ashe was close on his tail. The rabbit’s blood had invigorated her, making her even stronger than before.
She felt herself grinning as she caught up to Peter, and burst into laughter as she tagged him.
“Pretty good, isn’t it,” he said, starting to laugh himself.
Ashe had to agree.
“Better than gas station coffee?”
Ashe punched him. She couldn't believe he was already making jokes at her expense again. Peter stumbled back a few steps. “Ow, watch it. You’re a lot stronger than you were before. You could break an old man’s bones if you’re not careful.”
Ashe was glad to see some of the old Peter, and she felt some of her old self coming back as well. It felt good to laugh again.
“Ready to go back?” Peter asked.
“Yeah,” Ashe said, even though she knew there was no going back. Not really. There was only forward.
Ashe’s parents were standing outside the airport, David looking as always like a man from another time period with his long coat and brimmed hat resting low across his brow. He was little more than a silhouette in the night against the bright lights streaming out of the airport’s large glass windows, but Ashe recognized him immediately. She beamed as she saw him, practically running up to meet them with little regard for the luggage she had left behind with Peter. Ashe’s mother pulled her into a fierce hug, her wild red hair getting into Ashe’s face and tickling her nose.
“Mom,” Ashe said, trying to get free of the woman’s embrace.
“You’re so cold,” her mother replied and started vigorously rubbing Ashe’s back in an attempt to warm her up. “You should have worn a coat.”
Ashe wrestled herself free and held her mother at arm’s length. “It’s just how I am now,” she replied a little awkwardly. Though her parents knew about what had happened in Morris and Peter’s decision to turn her in order to save her life, Ashe wasn’t sure that her mother had really accepted it yet. The reality of it would probably set in after a few days, the realization that Ashe was no longer human.
Ashe’s mother frowned at her, eyeing her up and down in that concerned way only parents are able to. She seemed to be looking for anything else worth worrying about. Maybe a missing limb or an incurable disease. Except, of course, the vampirism, Ashe thought with a small laugh. That was definitely concerning, and definitely incurable.
Peter caught up with the luggage and set it down at their feet. “Everyone here?” he asked, looking around for his family who were supposed to be meeting them as well.
“Vanessa and Agatha were around here somewhere,” David grumbled. “And your mother and father went to call a taxi.”
There was a loud familiar giggle from behind them and everyone turned. Vanessa and Agatha had their arms linked with a tall, handsome man in a pilot’s uniform who was no doubt delighted to have such two beautiful women fawning over him. His face was beet red and he looked about ready to topple over in joy.
“My daughters, you know better than that.” Peter’s father stepped out of the shadows like a wraith, the sternness of his expression making up quite well for the shortness of his stature. Ashe and the others could only watch the scene unfold, feeling glad the man’s fury was not directed towards any of them.
The young man in the pilot’s cap began to apologize profusely, his face turning an even more alarming shade of red. The two women reluctantly let go of their prey, pouting in a manner that better fit a child than a woman of two-hundred years. As soon as he was free, the young man shot away into the crowd with surprising speed. Ashe thought that was the best thing he could have done. Though small, Peter’s father Otto was no man to cross.
“What have I said about humans?” Otto was lecturing as he led his daughters back towards the group.
“Peter was dating Ashe when she was still human,” Vanessa protested. “You didn’t say anything then.”
Ashe couldn’t help but smile. Vanessa was never the most tactful woman, but she sure had a lot of spirit which Ashe could admire.
“That was different,” Otto snapped.
“I don’t see how it is,” Agatha chimed in.
Otto looked like he could have punched a hole through one of the large windows behind him, but he held his tongue. Ashe suspected that his daughters would get more of a lecture once they were safely back home. Wherever home was.
She didn’t have time to ask Peter because a car had rolled up and Peter was already loading their luggage into the back. Vanessa chatted loudly to Agatha as they piled into the back seat. “It’ll be easier once they get married. Mom and Dad will be so caught up with introducing Ashe to everyone that they’ll forget all about us. I’m so glad we’re back in Prague. Those American men just aren’t my type.”
“Married?” Ashe asked.
Vanessa was too busy talking to Agatha to hear her.
Ashe turned to Peter, who smiled back shyly. “It’s not really a marriage, since us vampires obviously aren’t religious. It’s more of a formality. Sig
n a couple of papers, get entered into the clan registry...”
Ashe couldn’t believe that Peter hadn’t told her they were getting married until now. Of course, she had assumed she would spend the rest of eternity with him, but she hadn’t really thought about it in formal terms. She was going to become an official part of his family, his clan. It was all too much to take in and she felt like crying.
“Are you okay?” Peter asked, noticing the change in her.
She hugged him fiercely and gave him a kiss. “For a hundred-year-old, you’re pretty stupid,” she said. It was all she could manage through the rush of emotion.
“Then why was I assigned to be your tutor?” Peter replied.
Ashe laughed and got into the car with Peter close behind. He twined his fingers into hers, their hands resting together on the seat of the car. Ashe didn’t know what lay ahead, but she didn’t mind. She had Peter, and that was all that really mattered.
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Owned by The Vampire
Created in The Shadows of Heaven
Book 1
Lucy Lyons
© 2017
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Chapter One
Isabel smoothed her hair back from her forehead, taking a deep breath as she glanced around the parking garage. Most of the people who were going out for a Friday night of fun had already managed to make their way to the clubs, and while the garage was two thirds full, it was shockingly silent. All of the drivers were either wandering Royale Street or in one of its clubs. She glanced in the flip-down mirror, smiling to make sure that her lipstick hadn’t ended up on her teeth. She turned her head slightly, one way and then the other, checking the contour work she had done; it still looked a little obvious in the stark light of her car, but Isabel knew that in the darker club ambience, it would make her face look slimmer and her cheekbones more prominent.
“Well, the dress looks nice anyway,” Isabel said, pressing her lips together and flipping the mirror back up.
She stepped out of her car, tottering slightly on the heels she had convinced herself to wear before locking the door on the old Camry. Isabel had timed her arrival in the downtown area carefully; it was to her benefit that most of the crowd visiting the bars and clubs had already started their revels. Isabel started towards the elevator, balancing her weight carefully on her new heels until her body fell into the right posture to walk in, running through her plan mentally. Most of the guys at her favorite club would be at least one drink in, probably closer to two or three; they would have been shot down by the hottest of women out partying. And the men who were far, far out of her league would have picked up their hookups for the night.
Isabel had never needed the insincere protests from her cadre of going-out girlfriends that “you’ve got such a pretty face” and “you’re not fat, you’re beautiful,” to know where she stood in the spectrum of available single ladies. Although she had been a waifish child, as soon as puberty had come along, Isabel had struggled with her weight. Although looking back at pictures of herself as a teen, she had to admit that her self-perception of herself as a homely blob had been far from the truth. Her breasts and hips had expanded again and again, while her upward growth had stalled out at 5’6”, and while she was curvy, Isabel knew that some of her curves were less than perfectly appealing to a certain subset of men.
It had been a hard-won victory when she had learned to dress for her body type, and found jeans that fit her hips without gaping at her waist. However, for going out, she preferred skirts or dresses. She believed she was a great hookup fodder; pretty enough, cute enough, sultry enough to appeal to men for the purposes of getting laid. Yet not ethereally lovely or perfect enough –thus far –to find the prince charming who would want a relationship that lasted more than a few months on the outside.
Isabel shook her thoughts away as she stepped out of the parking garage and onto the street, looking both ways to take in the general vibe. Judging by the throng of smokers outside, there seemed to be some kind of event at Rock-a-Billy’s, while O’Malley’s had its usual crowd of beer-and-whiskey rowdies at the picnic tables in front.
Isabel’s gaze landed on the entrance to Underground, her favorite Friday night haunt; the two door men were in position, with Mike at the door itself to check IDs and Clancy seated next to the cash register. There was no line, but movement inside the club told Isabel that there were still plenty of people, and there would probably be more in an hour or so. Underground didn’t really pick up until almost midnight.
She made her way across the street, and Mike spotted her first, smiling at her as she approached. “How much is cover?” Clancy shook his head in response to her question.
“You know better than that,” Mike said, ripping a paper wristband free of the sheet folded in his hand. “I wouldn’t even bother with the wristband, but there are a couple of new bartenders we just took on, and I don’t want you to deal with the hassle of explaining to them that you’re honorary staff.” Isabel grinned, giving Clancy a quick hug while holding out her wrist for Mike to wrap the band around. She had come to Underground almost every weekend for years; she was practically a fixture for Friday, and sometimes, Saturday nights.
“What’s the show tonight?” Normally, there was no cover charge at the door unless there was a special event.
“Burlesque,” Clancy told her. “They’re starting up in about an hour.” That would help – in its own way. Of course, the men would flirt with the performers, hopeful to get a half-naked woman to come home with them. But when the lingerie-clad beauties started to filter out of the club with their boyfriends, spouses, or the odd ‘Mr. Right for tonight,’ the attention would turn back to the regular denizens of the club, with an urgency that would make it easier for Isabel to “close the deal” as the guys said.
She hugged Mike and stepped into the dark entryway of the club, letting her eyes adjust. Pounding rhythms of a Strokes song filled her ears, and Isabel glanced in the direction of the DJ booth to confirm that DD was running that end of things. Which he was, bent over his MacBook to adjust the levels. As soon as she was confident of her ability to navigate the dance floor without either getting doused by some drunk’s PBR or stepping on someone else, Isabel made a beeline for the bar.
She saw one of the new bartenders, but waited for Jesse to be free, leaning against the acrylic bar top and looking around. Most of the people in the club were regulars; a few looked like fish out of water; people who had somehow managed to stray from their usual haunts along Royale Street.
“The usual?” Isabel nodded in response to Jesse’s question and took her debit card out of her wallet while he poured Jameson into a plastic cup full of ice, and added quick, short dashes of cola to it. He reached out blindly and grabbed an orange wedge from the caddy behind the bar, squeezing the juice into the cocktail and dropping the wedge in, before adding a straw and looking up to take Isabel’s card. She might have another two or three over the course of the night – four, if it looked likely that she was going to end up going home without a partner. She would be staying until closing time at 4 in the morning--but the first sip of bitter-caramel-orange sweetness was the best.
“No one makes it better,” Isabel told Jesse, giving him a thumbs up before he turned away to start her tab. Isabel reached into her purse and found her pack of cigarettes after a moment’s searching, and then her lighter after a little more effort. She had managed to cut back her bad habit to weekends only, and when she was out or hooking up with someone. One day, she was sure, she would end up kicking it entirely.
