by Quinn Loftis
Billy took the stairs two at a time, and Jack sighed with relief.
He slowly stepped out of the closet and went to the front door, careful to open it without making a sound. Billy thumped around upstairs. Jack took one last look at his past. In the blink of an eye, he was gone. Before Billy could reach the foyer, Jack was miles away.
Next stop on the comeback tour: the local graveyard.
He stood over the grave of a boy named Jack Creed, a boy long ago dead but only temporarily buried. The grave belonged to him, his final resting place. What a joke. He squatted in front of the headstone and traced the letters of his name in the cold, hard granite. It was a repulsive yet necessary tradition.
Jack’s foul mood sank further south.
He needed to pull himself together before rejoining his friends. Cowboy didn’t appreciate sentimentality of any kind. The eldest member of the gang (a ripe twenty-two on the day of his death) thought he was bending over backwards as it was to accommodate Jack’s weird thirst for nostalgia by making the annual stop in Nebraska.
Jack remembered the first time he’d returned to the cemetery with his friends in tow. Lily had freaked out. “It’s bad luck to see your own grave,” she’d said. “Turn around three times and spit to ward off evil. It always works for me.”
“Silly superstition,” Cowboy insisted with a slight Texan drawl, yet his eyes wandered the graveyard as if he expected ‘evil’ to attack him.
Summer had been the only one not to give Jack a hard time. She at least tried to be understanding even though she didn’t get it either. The rest of them had adjusted to their second identities long ago, embraced life as vampires. Not Jack. He couldn’t let go of his past.
Jack lifted his chin and sniffed the air.
He smelled two things at once, one stronger than the other, but not as pleasant. Because the two odors mixed before invading his nostrils, it took him a moment to mentally decipher the information. Of course it helped when he looked up to see one of them, a girl, standing a few gravestones away.
He knew her in an instant.
It was the girl in the fuzzy pink sweater, the one Lily had warned him about. He tried to remember every word Lily said about the girl. There’d been some confusion on her hair color. Jack made a mental note to tell Lily it was like warm honey. It spilled over the girl’s shoulder in soft waves, blocking her face from view so he couldn’t tell if she was pretty or not.
She stood over a grave, oblivious to his presence.
What had he promised to do when he saw her? Run? Problem was his feet were glued to the ground. Something about her held him in place, something familiar. He couldn’t move. He didn’t want to move—unless it was to close the distance between them. His fingers itched to touch her. She smelled intoxicating, a lovely floral scent mixed with a hint of sweet fruit.
The other smell grew stronger, forcing his attention away from the girl. His stomach dropped to his feet, and he quickly scanned the surrounding area. It only took him a moment to find the owner of the offensive smell, a werewolf.
Jack hated werewolves more than anything else on earth. They were rotting, stupid, stinking animals. As Cowboy often said, “The only good werewolf is a dead werewolf.”
The werewolf stepped from the bushes, still in human form, but it was just as deadly minus fur and fangs. It had the power to rip apart its prey with invisible claws that only a vampire or another werewolf could see. Jack clenched his teeth to keep the frantic warning in his mouth. There wasn’t anything the girl could do. She couldn’t outrun the beast. She definitely couldn’t win in a fight. That left him as her only means of survival.
To be killed by a werewolf was horrible, painful beyond description.
The wolf snarled.
She jumped to her feet and took a step backwards, her hands stretched out in a defensive maneuver. Jack could hear her heart beat faster. It drummed a hundred and twenty beats a minute and rising. He had to do something, had to save her.
The werewolf attacked.
The girl whipped around, bringing her foot up in a hard arc. Her heel hit the werewolf in the face, the force knocking it back a few feet. It growled, and saliva glistened on human teeth. The thing quickly regained its balance and lunged a second time.
Jack watched in awe as the girl fought the beast. She had the grace of a dancer and the strength of a gymnast. In all his years he hadn’t seen such an incredible sight. Maybe she didn’t need him. Since a single scratch from a werewolf could kill a vampire, he was reluctant to join in. As long as she could handle it, he might as well hang back and watch.
The werewolf swiped at her with invisible claws and missed.
Figuring it was on the losing end of a long battle, the werewolf changed form. It seemed to melt. The liquid metal molded into an animal as if invisible hands were working on it. It transformed from man to beast and snarled at her with sharp teeth. Now it was a wolf, complete with fur. The thing’s eyes glowed, liquid gold flashing in triumph. It had the advantage. Hand-to-hand combat would no longer work.
The girl froze. She and the beast stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed an eternity to Jack. The only movement was the slight lift and fall of the girl’s chest as she took slow, even breaths. Now what?
Jack didn’t have a choice anymore. He had to save her. There was no one else around. The hell with his promise to Lily. He wasn’t going to let this innocent girl get torn apart by a stinking werewolf when he could do something about it.
Once he made up his mind to help, he moved fast. In an instant he blocked the girl, using his own body as a shield. He heard her barely audible gasp, and the sound of it stirred the hair at the base of his neck. There was something about her, something sweet and familiar. He wanted to turn around and take a good look at her, but he had to save her life first.
“What the hell are you doing?” she shouted.
Distracted by the vehemence in her tone, he took his eyes off the werewolf for a split-second, and that was all it took.
The werewolf lunged. It knocked him to the ground, landing on top of him, teeth bared. It snarled and went for his throat. Saliva dripped from the snapping jaws. Disgusting. Jack tried to focus on what he was doing and push aside how much he loathed touching the nasty thing.
He grabbed its head with both hands and struggled to keep the sharp teeth at a distance. It was hard to get a good grip because of the thick fur and the animal’s violent movements. The beast tried to turn its head, catch his arm, but he squeezed it tighter.
Then the werewolf changed tactics.
It swiped hard at his chest. Razor-sharp claws sliced open his shirt and the flesh beneath. The pain distracted him. His fingers cramped, almost letting go. Blood soaked the front of his shirt. With the cold ground beneath him and the sudden loss of blood, his mind began to drift. A werewolf had killed him for the second time. He only hoped the girl had gotten away.
As if in answer to his silent question two graceful hands reached over his head and settled upon his. He opened his mouth, tried to tell her to run, but he couldn’t speak. A single slurred word left his parted lips. It was unintelligible even to him.
The wolf looked at her, and it stopped in mid-attack. The hairy beast slowly backed off him, growling as it retreated. Was it afraid of the girl?
No way. Jack couldn’t believe his eyes. He used what strength he had to raise his head and watch as the girl walked over to the wolf without breaking eye contact. She knelt in front of it. The two of them seemed to be in a silent struggle. Their eyes remained locked until Jack thought they would stay that way forever, frozen in time.
With a whimper the wolf began to shake.
The girl stroked the thing’s furry head. They could have been dog and owner, taking a break from a walk in the park. It didn’t make any sense to Jack. The wolf’s eyes closed, and it collapsed in a heap next to her.
The girl in the fuzzy pink sweater returned to Jack’s side. She yanked his blue plaid shirt down his arms, but
left him with the T-shirt. She rolled the blue plaid material into a ball and placed it onto the bleeding wound. He ground his teeth together to keep from crying out. No reason for her to remember him as a big baby.
“You’re beautiful,” he said with awe. The art of breathing grew harder. He gasped between words. “What’s…your…name?”
“Are you trying to flirt with me? Now?” Her pink lips tilted at the corners, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “My name is Silver Reign.”
He snorted, and a new wave of pain jolted through him.
“It’s not spelled like the kind of rain that falls from the sky,” she said.
He laughed until he tasted blood. Funny how it didn’t taste good when it was his blood. Resting on the ground, he took in the night sky. There seemed to be a million stars shining just for them. It was kind of a romantic end, like Romeo and Juliet, only the girl would go on without him instead of taking her own life.
There was a shift in the atmosphere. Worried, his eyes went to Silver’s face. He warned her, “My friends are coming. I can feel them. You need to go. I don’t want them to hurt you.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, silently reminding him of how easily she’d dispatched the werewolf.
“Okay,” he amended. “I don’t want you to hurt them.”
“I won’t.”
As if on cue, he heard three pairs of running feet. “They’re here. Go!”
He took one last look at her before she left. Lily had been right. The girl wasn’t classically beautiful and she wasn’t his type, but there was something mesmerizing about her. His eyes drifted closed as familiar voices washed over him. His three friends all talked at once.
“Looks like the werewolf got him before he killed it,” Cowboy said in a matter-of- fact tone. “Good for him.”
“We have to do something,” Summer insisted. “Let’s get him to the house.”
“He should have listened to me,” Lily said. “I told him to run when he saw the girl in the fuzzy sweater.”
Jack used every bit of strength he had to pry his eyes open. He raised a hand and grabbed Summer by the hem of her jeans. “I want to go home.”
Summer smiled with twinkling blue eyes that paled in comparison to Silver’s. The chunky ends of her blonde hair rested against her freckled face. Before she got too excited, he added, “I want to go to my real home, the house I lived in with my family before you turned me.”
Summer’s smile died, and she began to argue with everyone over where they were taking him. Cowboy grabbed Jack from behind and lifted him to his feet. Jack swung an arm over his friend’s shoulders while Cowboy’s arm snaked around his waist like they were running a three-legged race at the county fair. Together they walked through the cemetery gates to Cowboy’s car.
Jack resisted the urge to look for the girl, not wanting to draw attention to her. He felt the heat of her eyes on him. At least his friends were too worried about him to notice her unusual scent clinging to the night air. Cowboy opened the passenger side door, and Jack collapsed into the provided seat. He bit his lower lip and prayed he’d live long enough to talk to Billy one last time.
“We need to take him to the abandoned house!” Summer shouted from the backseat. “He needs us.”
The girls sat in the back of the speeding car. Lily quietly sobbed for Jack while Summer leaned forward, pressing between the two front seats. She had to talk loud to be heard over the engine, the music, and the rushing wind. The passenger side window had been rolled down because Jack thought he might puke. She said, “We have to get inside before the sun comes up, and Jackpot needs us. Taking him home is pointless. His brother won’t know what to do for him.”
Anxious, Jack waited for Cowboy’s response. He wanted to argue with Summer, but he was too weak. He couldn’t even sit up straight. Every time the car leaned to the right or to the left, so did he, like he didn’t have a bone left in his body. Life continued to drain out of him. His lowered head bumped the edge of the car door with a painful thump every time they hit a rough spot in the road.
“It’s not our call,” Cowboy said. “Anyway, it’s just after midnight. We could walk and still reach both places.”
Jack relaxed, but Summer wouldn’t quit.
“His brother won’t know how to help him.”
Jack used his last bit of strength to push himself into a higher sitting position. He half-turned in her direction and spoke between clenched teeth. “I want to go home. I want to see my brother before I die.”
The car sped along the empty two-lane highway between town and his family’s farm. They were flying, but the darkness made it seem like they were moving in slow motion. Jack hoped death was like this, moving through time and space faster than light.
“You aren’t dying,” Summer said, her voice cracking. “Not every vampire dies after getting clawed by a werewolf.”
Jack scoffed. “Right. One out of every thousand manages to live somehow. I’m sure I’ll beat those odds. They don’t call me Jackpot for nothing.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Cowboy said, taking his eyes off the road for a second. As usual his point of view came across loud and forceful. “You have the right to die wherever and however you want. Die with your boots on, buddy. That’s what I always say.”
Jack patted his shirt pocket. “You got a cigarette, man?”
He had taken up smoking ten years ago. The smoke deadened their acute sense of smell for a while, and he liked that.
Cowboy drew a pack from his jacket while he continued to drive with the other hand. He pulled a tobacco stick out with his mouth and lit it with the car’s built-in lighter. Then he turned and put it between Jack’s lips. Jack half-dragged on it. The smoke filled his lungs, giving him a small burst of energy. He straightened his spine.
Summer rubbed his shoulder. “Please change your mind and come with us.”
“Crank up the tunes, man,” Jack said, feeling a little like his old self again.
“You got it, buddy.” Cowboy turned up the volume on the radio. The rock music throbbed through Jack’s body, and drowned out Summer’s annoying voice. He closed his eyes and let the music own him. For the moment his happiness returned to him.
A few minutes later he was back at the farmhouse. When they left him in front of his childhood home, Cowboy flashed him a backwards peace sign. “Vampires rule, buddy.”
Jack nodded but didn’t flash the sign back. He didn’t feel particularly grateful to be a vampire at the moment. Pain radiated throughout his entire body. He wasn’t sure if he could make it up the porch steps to the front door without help. His friends abandoned him. They had to hide from the sun.
He struggled up the porch stairs. Grabbing the wood railing, he lifted a foot and searched for the first step. A splinter caught his pinky, tearing the skin open. Compared to the agony the rest of his body was in, the pain in his finger barely registered. Every breath he took sent razor blades slicing through his lungs. He was dying again, and he was alone.
Then he wasn’t alone anymore. Like a tiny miracle, he felt her before seeing her. Silver Reign stood behind him, her hand pressed against his back. Her soft voice soothed his senses and drove some of the pain away. “Billy isn’t here,” she said. “I’m taking you home with me.”
“How did you know where I was?” He turned his head and stared at her. The outer edges of his vision blurred. Her entire form seemed to shimmer with an incandescent light, and his mind drifted to a surreal place. “Are you an angel?”
“Not exactly.”
.
Kasi Blake’s blog: http://kasi-kcblake.blogspot.com
@kasiblake
Other books by Kasi Blake include:
Werewolves Rule
Shifters Rule
Wizards Rule
Bait
Hunter
Warrior
An excerpt from Burden, Book One of the
Bayou Bear Chronicles by Lila Felix
Available on Amazon, Barnes
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Hawke
“I need a minute, file out please,” I commanded, sitting back in my tattered leather desk chair, scratching my almost full beard. Rubbing my belly, I tried to scour away the itch of frustration, to no avail.
Frustration was my leech and its teeth penetrated deep.
I really should take better care of myself.
But my appearance reflected my attitude of late, ragged, teetering on the edge of mania. I’d gone too long without a haircut, opting instead for buzzing the sides myself and letting the top grow longer than I’d ever let it before.
“Yes, Alpha,” they all replied, swiftly moving from the cedar paneled office—except River. As more than my beta, my best friend, he always thought himself exempt from most orders, and he was. I frequently needed an ear that felt like it was on my side, and not just because the rules told him he had to be.
My father had been Alpha before me, and his father Alpha before that. Every day I uncovered another piece of the effed up puzzle—the real story of the turmoil my clan was in—the legacy they’d left me. And it seemed while they were excellent Alphas in terms of protecting the lands and growing the clan—they weren’t proficient at financing or piddling things like paying property taxes. They allowed their females no say over anything, which went against everything we were taught as young males. They failed to practice what they preached. Their mates had to grin and bear it. A female probably would’ve pointed out the details that my father and his father ignored. And now, one year after my father died of cancer and my mother followed soon after, I stood in a falling apart house, up to my eyeballs in debt with every male and some female clan members working two and three jobs to help out. My clan was crumbling through my claws.
Something has to give.
