Intervamption

by Kristin Miller

  The door was cracked.

  A mess of bad feelings swirled in his gut. It might be too late. Vampires might already be on scene. Lord knew he made the anonymous tip to their khiss nearly an hour ago. He’d wanted the therian squad to catch those leeches red-handed, on scene digging through the bodies. Which meant if he didn’t want to be caught with blood on his hands, he had to move fast.

  He backed off the porch, then strode around the side, peering in windows as each passed. No movement inside. Yet.

  When he got around back, the therians were right where he thought they’d be. Right where he’d left them. Slumped against each other back to back, some headless, some with holes in their hearts. All of them showing no signs of life.

  He stepped over a therian body blocking the side alley . . . when he heard a faint gurgling sound. Leaning down, careful not to get blood on his khakis, Moses closely examined the body. The young therian form flickered on the verge of death, the steel shaft through his heart keeping him from shifting safely.

  “Terrance, don’t worry. We’re gonna get you out of here, buddy,” Krawler grumbled, kneeling at his side, surveying the damage to his internal organs. “Terrance, tell me who did this to you.”

  Before Terrance could blink an eye, Moses drew his pistol and shot him in the center of his heart, sealing his deal with the Devil.

  Krawler whirled around, his eyes widening to bright yellow orbs. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Those were the last words to escape his lips. Moses shot off a second round, a special-made silver bullet aimed for Krawler’s heart. Except it didn’t hit on target.

  Krawler bounded to the side, shuddering and shaking, peeling his skin. One second he was Krawler, the bumbling fool who’d do anything Moses ordered. The next second he was a massive scorpion, three feet in length, aiming to strike Moses with a violent swish of his lethal tail.

  Moses jumped back, popped off two more rounds into the scorpion’s body. It thrashed side to side, striking once and missing. Striking twice, grazing Moses’s arm.

  “Damn it!” he yelled, and tucked his arm against his body.

  Wishing he still had his blade to chop off its head, Moses did the only thing he could do. He flattened on the ground, bringing himself stupidly close to the scorpion’s pincers, but level with its underbelly. From there he took a wide-open shot at the heart.

  This time the bullet found its mark.

  Hissing and writhing in pain, flickering from one form to another, the scorpion flopped onto its back, finally returning to Krawler’s original form.

  When the ordeal was over Moses stood slowly and pocketed his gun. Then he flipped open his cell phone and dialed the office of the only other Sheik in Crimson Bay.

  “Amon, we have a problem,” Moses said, stepping over Krawler’s flickering body. “There’s been a large-scale therian attack by a local vampire khiss. We need a crew to report ASAP.”

  He rattled off the address and listened to Amon babble about losing more therians than they could afford, and about a vampire uprising likely on the horizon.

  Moses liked the last part best—vampire uprising meant all-out war and eventual extermination.

  As he heard the Lincoln’s horn blast from the street, it was just another reminder to cut out. “Amon, schedule a meeting with every Sheik in California for tomorrow evening at Mirage. I don’t care how hard it is to get there, just do it. These vamps aren’t gonna go quietly, and we’ll need all the reinforcements we can get. Remember, their Primus returns at Winter Solstice. My gut tells me we’ll need to act before then. Rally the troops and bring a Sheik who can break through mawares. They’re calling for all-out war.”

  The horn blared again, drowning out Amon’s compliance.

  “We’ll be in touch,” Moses said, and dropped the call.

  Hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention, and it wasn’t from the sudden gusts of wind blasting through the alley. He snapped his head around, peering through the windows above him. Even though he couldn’t see them, he knew there were vampires—two, maybe three—inside the house. Was that a therian he sensed somewhere inside too? No, that couldn’t be right . . . unless it was Slade.

  Shit. He had no idea how much they’d just witnessed.

  Applying pressure to the cut on his arm, Moses hauled serious ass to the Lincoln and didn’t look back. It was the first time in his life that he ran out of fear. It wasn’t because he didn’t think he could take out two or three leeches, because surely he could. And he didn’t run because there might’ve been a therian who could identify him. No.

  It had everything to do with the fact he believed he was on his last shift. If his suspicions were right, and he hoped to God they weren’t, it wouldn’t take much to kill him. Not losing his head by blade, being staked through with steel, even being shot in the heart with a special-branded silver bullet—just a single innocent shift and he’d return to the fires of hell as the soulless creature he’d been before.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “You will lose your mundane family to disease or tired old age. You will mourn their deaths. But as you live centuries without them, remember their lives, gloriously lived, in the sun.”

  —Five Stages of Death and Not-Dying by Dr. Vango

  They’d been searching the scrolls from sunup to sundown and far beyond. Rolls of parchment covered the floor in two stacks, one a mole hill, the other an overflowing mountain: unlikely and undecipherable.

  Blurry-eyed and starving, Dylan flipped another roll of paper into the growing undecipherable pile. Sighing, she started reading another roll, then quickly tossed it aside. “Makes it hard to search for something when you don’t know what that something is.”

  Slade looked up. “You think?”

  “Are we crazy for doing this? I mean, the pile is getting bigger and it feels like we’re not getting anywhere. David probably took it with him anyway, right?”

  Slade grabbed another scroll and unrolled it over his lap. “Right. But do you really wanna chance it?”

  “No . . . I don’t.”

  She watched him delve into their elder’s writing, his finger floating over words he couldn’t possibly understand. His eyes tracked fast, skipping over parts, she was sure, but stopping on others that may’ve shown promise. The idea that Slade was here for her when he could’ve been anywhere in the world with anyone else made her heart flutter. She only wished he didn’t look so irritated about it.

  “In case I forget to tell you later, thank you for doing this.”

  His eyes narrowed to scarlet slits in his face, his jaw and lips just as tight. “You can thank me when we find something. Until then I’ve done nothing to earn your gratitude.”

  That pissed-off mug had been slapped on his face since they found the scrolls. She didn’t know why and he certainly wouldn’t say as much, but she got the feeling he was angry with her. Was it something she said? Was he as shaky and irritable from thirst as she was?

  As she leaned over to grab another scroll, she caught sight of one lying on the floor under the furthest case. She stood up, brushing dirt off her backside and picked up the fallen scroll. Unraveling two-handed, her fingers working the edges like spider’s legs, she let her eyes fall over the first page.

  Blue ink marks haloed passages near the bottom, starkly contrasting against the smudged blood scrawl. Ink dotted the second page too. And the third.

  “Wait, I think I’ve found something,” she said.

  Slade flashed to her side in a heartbeat. “Is that what I think it is?”

  He swiped his finger across the bottom line, picking up traces of blue on his skin.

  “It’s marked up,” she said. “And it’s fresh.”

  “David.” His name echoed through the catacombs, a stirring that roused their hope.

  “There must be something written here that gave him an answer he needed. Why else would he have circled these?”

  Slade swiped off stacks of scrolls from the top of the c
ase, making a clearing for the parchment in her hands. “Here.”

  Even though she was still holding the scroll, his hands covered hers as he laid it out flat. He secured the curled edges with rocks from the floor, and began reading aloud:

  . . . her blood will bring the beginning of the end after twelve moons in two thousand and ten. Two royals brought together in strife will join as one, bringing new life to a dying khiss. Their true-blooded young will rule the race, ending the tainted war. One royal by line, the other by designation, two will become one and birth a just king. . . .

  If Dylan thought Slade was rigid and uptight before, now he was a statue of stone, his shoulders pulled back, his jaw set. His black sweatshirt suddenly seemed tight over his torso, his jeans stretching over his legs like they were covering massive tree trunks.

  “It’s about you,” he growled.

  She read it again. “Don’t be absurd. This could be about anyone. What makes you think it’s me?”

  “One royal by line, Erock, the other by designation, you, will become one, by Valcdana, and birth a just king. Don’t you see? David discovered you’re the key to the prophecy. You’re supposed to be enlightened by Erock and have a royal child. Shit.” He scrubbed his hand across his head.

  “No, it could easily be about someone else . . . what about David? Maybe it was about him and Eve. Yeah, that could be it.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re really gonna be so blind to what’s written?” He frantically tapped the circled portion. “This . . . is you.”

  “What does the first part mean then? ‘Her blood will bring the beginning of the end.’ It couldn’t possibly mean that I—”

  “That you will give your life for your young.”

  She turned, walked to the far end of the room, if only to get away from the heat projecting off Slade’s body. The prophecy couldn’t possibly refer to her. That’d make no sense whatsoever. But it didn’t make sense that she’d been chosen for Valcdana as a commoner, either. Erock’s royal blood should’ve been joined with another royal female’s. Not hers.

  Unless David really did uncover something in the scrolls referring to her.

  “It couldn’t mean . . . I never thought that I . . . how could I have known that it . . . oh God.” The room spun circles around her. Shadows danced on the walls, faces emerging from rocks and gravel and dirt, all staring at her with sadistic expectancy. “I need to get out of here. I need fresh air.”

  “All right, but we’re taking these with us.” Slade’s rumble of a voice was muffled. Like he was underwater. Or in a big ass tunnel, miles away. “You don’t look so good. Why don’t you sit?”

  “I don’t need to sit. I need to . . .” An arm came around her waist, guiding her to the dirt wall. She slid down until her knees bent against her chest.

  “Sit for a minute, you hardheaded woman. It won’t kill you.”

  She put her head between her knees, focused on taking deep breaths instead of on the words they’d discovered. Her blood . . . a just king . . . end of the war. . . .

  Slade stroked small circles across her back, toyed with loose strands of her hair, pulling them out of her face. As she focused on the rhythm of his hand, his rich aroma enveloped her. His fragrance was as soothing as freshly ground coffee on a dreary morning. He somehow managed to make the world, and all the stress creeping into her mind, slip away with a simple touch.

  She couldn’t help but want his hands to circle other places. Lower. Much lower. Even seconds away from passing out, her body wanted him. Too bad her heart and mind were coiled around Valcdana red tape; otherwise she might’ve let herself go. . . .

  “I don’t want you to worry about what the scrolls say.” Slade crouched before her, took her chin with his fingers and lifted. “If you don’t want to be with Erock and go through Valcdana with him, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen. All you have to do is trust me.”

  His eyes were so tender yet so mystical. There was something behind his words, something she didn’t understand, and couldn’t help but be drawn to.

  “You still don’t get it,” she said, letting his fingers graze her chin. “If this is my destiny, if this is really what’s written by our elders, then it’s what I must do.”

  His hand dropped. Anger crept across his face. “You’ll die, Dylan.”

  “Maybe. But the scrolls say the war between vampires and therians will end because of it. That’s been my life’s goal, Slade, why I’ve worked at ReVamp all this time. If my being enlightened by Erock gives the race the chance they need, who am I to deny them? We’re talking about my measly life for the life of the race.”

  “You foolish woman. You don’t even know if the Valcdana will work, if Erock will be able to revive you, or if these are just some crazy ramblings from a group of senile old leeches. Come on, we’re going to find another way.” He grabbed her arm and yanked her off the floor. “I’m not gonna sit here and let you reserve your tomb next to one of those martyred suckers back there.”

  She should’ve ripped her hand out of his. Retaliated for being jerked around like a rag doll. She should’ve been angry he’d just insulted her heritage and her destiny, and called her hardheaded and foolish. But she really couldn’t hold it against him—he hadn’t been a member of their race for long so he couldn’t possibly understand the duty weighing her shoulders. It wasn’t his fault.

  Besides, if they interpreted the scrolls right, there was no changing fate. No matter what path she took, she’d inevitably end up enlightened by Erock and would give birth to a royal child.

  Now the only course of action was following David’s path and meeting Meridian, deciphering the remainder of the scroll to figure out exactly what it said. Except she had no idea how they were going to get out of here. The bookcase in Erock’s room was sealed shut and he was no doubt awake and roaming around by now.

  And probably looking for her.

  As Slade snatched the scroll off the floor, Dylan caught a glimpse of swirls of black on the bottom of the parchment. A pattern adorned the bottom corner. Almost like a stamp of some sort. A very intricate black stamp that had somehow lasted the test of time.

  “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the marking.

  Slade looked under his arm, pulled out the corner in question . . . and stared. “That can’t be.”

  “What? Do you know what it is?”

  He unrolled the scroll enough to get a good, hard look at the marking. He swallowed hard. “Yeah, I’ve seen it before. Feels like ages ago.”

  “What is it?”

  He rolled it back up and tucked it beneath his arm. “Let’s just say I know what it is, but not what it’s doing way down here. I have a feeling Meridian might.”

  “Well then let’s get the hell out of here and find him.”

  Dylan let Slade drag her down one long corridor, then a second and a third. Each one led to more tombs, blind turns and dead-ends. Eventually the hold on her hand loosened, and his fingers found their way between hers.

  Even though she knew it was hardly the time to be making demands, her thirst couldn’t last much longer. Rumbling in her stomach drowned out any thoughts other than hunger and would soon migrate to affect her basic functioning. If she didn’t feed within the next few hours she’d make Godzilla look cuddly and loveable.

  “Slade, I hate to put a timetable on getting out of here, but if I don’t get something to drink soon I’m gonna be in bad shape. Could we hurry it up a bit?”

  His eyes penetrated the dark. “How bad is it?”

  “I don’t know why I didn’t think to bring a bottle with me,” she said to herself. She didn’t know why she was thinking or feeling a lot of things, including the burning fire in her middle to be alone with Slade. A part of her, the part she refused to analyze, wanted more time in the secluded catacombs with him.

  “How bad is it?” he asked again.

  “An hour until bloodlust. Maybe two.”

  “Shit. I’m trying my best but this god d
amn place is a maze.” He led her through long dirt-floored corridors one after another that looked exactly the same as the last. Each opened up to ancient rooms she thought she’d seen a hundred times already. “Your elders couldn’t have nailed up illuminated exit signs or anything? Jesus Christ.”

  “I told you, we have a few hours. We’ll find the way out before I’m hell and gone. And it’s not like this place was designed to allow easy access in and out. It’s hidden, remember?”

  “I got the picture. But it couldn’t have killed them to put in a few back doors.” His eyes lit up like fireworks. “When we came in and went down that stairwell . . . there were skylights, weren’t there?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not squeezing my ass through there.” One too many Blood-Blaster Bars, she thought. Okay, maybe two or three too many.

  He chewed on the side of his mouth, his eyes shadowing over. “Dylan, do you trust me?”

  Oh, God. Where was he going with this? If he thought she was gonna stand on his shoulders and do some sort of monkey acrobatics, he was nuts. “Yes, I trust you.”

  “Then here’s what’s gonna happen. See that boulder sticking out from the wall over there? Face it and close your eyes. Wait for me to call your name before you open them again.”

  “Whatever happened to ‘where you go, I go’?”

  He gripped her around the shoulders. “I didn’t want to have to do this. I really didn’t. But if you need to feed I don’t see another option. Now if you’re not interested in being the poster child for some vampire version of anorexia, you need to do what I say. Trust me on this one.”

  “But if you know how to get back to the stairwell, why don’t we go together? Maybe Erock’s not in his room and we can push through the bookcase from this side? Doesn’t that sound like a better plan than sticking me down here with my eyes closed?”

  “No, it doesn’t. We don’t know what kind of state Erock’s in. Do you really want to go busting through the catacomb wall he doesn’t know exists? He’ll stake me for sure, and then stain your reputation. Maybe close ReVamp before we can figure out what’s really going on. And how do you think he’s going to feel about us being down here . . . together . . . all by our lonesome?”