Aden blinked his eyes clear and pointed to room 106. “That’s the one.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”
Aden nodded, focusing. The longer he did, the more distinct the scent became. He dug his senses beneath the magickal cover and nearly choked. “Man, it smells like a Cajun cookout in the middle of a garden at high noon. It’s making my eyes water.”
Daniel chuckled under his breath, motioning for Aden to follow him as they approached the door. “We need to figure out a way in,” Daniel muttered.
“It’s not a deadbolt, so I’ve got this,” Aden whispered back.
Pulling his wallet from his back pocket, he extracted a laminated library card. He shimmied it between the doorframe and the door, wiggling the plastic up and down and back and forth until the lock popped with a soft “chink.” After taking a deep, steadying breath, he pushed open the door. With the lamp still burning beside the bed, a man slept, wrapped loosely from head to toe in the thin motel blanket. Aden could hear him snoring under the covers, so he crept closer to the still form. He held his breath as he reached out, toward the covers.
With his finger curled around the edge of the blanket, Aden suddenly realized that the room was silent—no more snoring. Instinctively, he ducked, just as a large hunk of wood soared over his head. The spindly chair smashed into the side of Daniel’s head, and the older vampire fell to the ground, knocked unconscious.
“Shit!” Aden swore as an old cassette player tumbled from the bed, caught up in the blanket that he still grasped in his hand. It landed against his shin, causing him to leap upward with a gasp of pain, only to see the slayer coming at him from around the bed.
Aden knew his only weapons were the stake and the vial of potion. His hand hesitated over the stake—he really didn’t want to kill anyone. His indecisiveness was the opening the slayer needed. Aden attempted to dodge his attack, but he tripped over his feet. His clumsiness sent him slamming into the nightstand, where he bounced off the corner, grunting as it dug in and sliced open his shirt, cutting his belly before he fell across the bed. He swore again as he pulled himself to his feet and stood facing the man across the room.
“Hey! We’re not here to hurt you!” he yelled as the slayer bellowed, rage turning his face a mottled shade of red.
With another yell, the slayer yanked the lamp from the table, plunging the room into darkness. Aden’s vision struggled to recover from the sudden change in light, but his hearing compensated for what he couldn’t see. He heard the rustle of the man’s shirt as he drew back his arm, and the whistle of air as the lamp flew toward his head. Aden swatted the object away, smashing it into the far wall as he huffed out a frustrated breath. Reasoning with the slayer wasn’t going to work.
The slayer stalked him around the end of the bed. Not willing to be cornered again, Aden dived back across the mattress, rolling his body in a flip that landed him on his feet on the floor next to Daniel. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the vial, thankful that with all his tumbling it remained unbroken. The lid was constructed with a medicine dropper on the underside. Filling the tube with a minute amount, Aden prayed as he flung the drops in the direction of the slayer. The man stopped mid-stride, arms outstretched, his eyes wide as one drop landed on the exposed skin of his left arm.
“What have you done to me?” the slayer whispered, his eyes glazing over with pain.
The man screamed. And screamed. And screamed. His body shook, his arms windmilling like a marionette in a hurricane, his legs akimbo with all the structure of a wet rope. The veins in his arms bulged, the inflamed red of them contrasting with the indigo tint that spread from the potion’s contact point of his skin. Collapsing, his screams faded into nothing as the slayer continued to shake, his eyes rolling back in his head. His mouth remained wide, his scream silent. A hazy mist hissed from his skin, the texture flaking, cracking, as brittle as an ancient painting. The skin peeled away, exposing the bones, which crumbled to dust beneath the weight of the slayer’s clothing. Shocked, Aden couldn’t tear his horrified gaze away as the man disintegrated, leaving nothing behind but the dusty red shadow of a person on the ratty carpet.
“What have I done?” Aden breathed, his gut twisting.
With shaking hands, he screwed the lid back onto the vial and slipped the whole thing into his pocket. There was no time to process what just happened. Aden’s head whipped up as he heard a door open and footsteps running in their direction. Without another thought, he threw Daniel’s unconscious body over his shoulder and took off for the door. Offering up a fervent prayer, he darted out into the night, looking neither right nor left as he used his vampiric speed to steal them as far away from the motel as possible. He didn’t stop running until he was on his front porch. After kicking open his door, he laid Daniel down on the couch and made a beeline for the refrigerator.
With the image of the decimated slayer seared into his mind’s eye, Aden didn’t give a damn about his friend. He didn’t care that more slayers would be coming. He didn’t care that the Vampire Council wanted him dead. He didn’t even care that Carissa likely had slayer blood coursing through her veins. He’d just killed a man. That left a bitter taste in his mouth, and a hole the size of Texas in his heart – something he didn’t think any amount of blood could fix. Causing someone’s death was the last thing he’d wanted to do. Damn it! He wasn’t a killer.
Some vampire I am! I can’t even protect my own kind without my conscience getting in the way. Fuck.
Opening his fridge, he grabbed a packet off the top shelf, cursing again as he opened it. The contents were covered in a thin sheet of red ice, completely destroying the life-sustaining liquid. Well that puts a cap on a fantastic fucking night. Leaving the empty packet on the counter, he snagged the next-to-last one from the fridge. He drank the blood cold to shock his system, but it did nothing to calm his self-loathing. He tossed his empty packet into the trash and returned to the living room, cursing himself with every step.
Murderer.
The word reverberated through his mind in time to the slapping of his boots across the wooden floor. It didn’t matter that he’d been fighting for his life. It didn’t matter that the slayer was hell-bent on hurting him and Daniel. Self-defense didn’t change the outcome. Stepping out onto his porch, Aden shuddered in spite of the warm night air. Murderer. The word wrapped him in its poisonous embrace, drawing a shattered sigh from his soul. Shaking his head, he tried to focus on the house across the street.
The building itself was unremarkable, but the but the air around it pulsed with malevolence. He rolled his eyes at the idea. The place was bricks and mortar—a simple house, nothing more. It sported the same dark red exterior and bay windows as his own home. The only differences were the front door and the garage attached to the right side of his home. Nothing about its innocent appearance said “danger,” yet that’s exactly what Aden felt when he looked at the house.
Murderer. The word whispered tauntingly in his ear. It’s your fault. You pursued her, became her friend, and now you’ve killed. What’s to stop you from going after her next? The evil you’re sensing is your own. Aden’s fists clenched at his sides. No! What he did tonight had nothing to do with her. But she smells like the slayer. If you killed one…
“No!” he snapped aloud.
He wasn’t going to let his anger at his own actions overshadow the feelings blossoming for his neighbor. Innocent until fucking proven guilty—like him…. Turning on his heel, he stalked back inside. Scowling at Daniel as he began to stir, Aden grabbed the last package of blood from the refrigerator – he really needed to stop forgetting to get more before he ran out – and poured it into a clean cup. Taking it into the living room, he watched as his friend sat up, rubbing at the already fading bruise on his cheek.
“What happened?”
Aden passed him the cold cup. “We were expected, that’s what,” he said, his voice hollow.
Daniel took the first sip, and grimaced. Lowering
his hand to his lap, he turned his head to look around. “Well, shit. So, what are we doing back here?”
Aden sat down, scowling at the floor. “I fucking killed him,” he spat, “I used the damn potion and he started screaming. He collapsed. His body was twitching, and then—” Aden cut off with a shudder. “He was nothing but fucking dust and blood.”
Eyes alight with admiration, Daniel gaped at him. “The first time I take you out, you eradicate a slayer that was at least one hundred and fifty years old on your own? Aden, that’s incredible! I know Vampire Council members that can’t pull off something like that! You’re going to be a legend, man!”
Stomping to his feet, Aden embraced the red haze of his fury that clouded his vision. “Did you not hear me when I said I murdered him?”
Daniel waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, I heard you, but, it’s good news that he’s dead.” Crossing the room, he clapped Aden on the back. “You held your own, and you did what you needed to do. The fact of the matter is, you handled yourself better than most veterans, so don’t beat yourself up over it. Look, I’ll come by tomorrow night, and we can discuss this more if you like, but in the meantime, I have an assignment for you.
Aden rolled his eyes. “And what’s that?”
“I need you to see if you can locate the slayers that are supposed to live around here. If we can find them before they find us, we might be able to keep this war from coming to our town.”
Shaking his head as Daniel shot him an encouraging smile on his way through the door, Aden immediately picked up his phone to place a quick call to the owner of the blood bank. Once he’d disconnected the call, he set about following Daniel’s orders, booting up his computer and using every skill at his disposal to complete his assignment. More than once, he heard knocking at his front door, but he ignored the sound. He wasn’t in the mood for company, even if it was Carissa. After tonight – after his conversation with Daniel – as much as he knew he’d regret the decision, he was certain she would be better off without him in her life.
He’d never get over what he’d done. Murderer. Aden’s conscience wouldn’t let up. Guilt and disgust riddled his soul. Regardless of the circumstances, he’d killed a man. He was no longer the type of person Carissa could want. Murderer. He could lie to her all night long, but no amount of filtered words would erase the bloodstains on his hands. She was better off without someone like him mucking up her existence.
Chapter Eighteen
Aden waited until the light was off across the street before he left to get more blood. The fact that she actually slept at night was just another reminder of how different they were. Lucky for him, Sean Thibodeaux’s blood bank was open around the clock. According to Daniel, the man’s family had been running the operation, catering to both the living and undead, for more than eighty years. Aden’s aversion to live donors was a bone of contention between Aden and his mentor. In an attempt to change his mind, Daniel had made him wait ten years before telling him of Sean’s business.
Dispelling the thought, Aden walked through the inconspicuous front door of the building, crossing straight back to open the EMPLOYEES ONLY door without knocking. Sean, his grizzled, nearly hairless head bent over a small mound of papers, looked up with a grin.
“Aden! I was wonderin’ when I’d hear from you again. I figured ya must have run out by now, so I’m glad ya called. Haven’t been goin’ after the natives again, have ya?”
Aden shook his head, smiling sheepishly. “I drank my last packet tonight,” he muttered.
“You’ve gotta stop doin’ that, my friend. Ole Dan’s gonna have too many questions to answer if ya go back to the tap.”
“He’ll kill you if he hears you call him that,” Aden said with a chuckle, but Sean just smiled as he gained his feet.
“As it happens, I’ve got ya a shipment ready. Wanna borrow the van to get it back to your place?”
“No, not this time. The walking will do me good.”
“Got a lot of stuff on your mind?”
“You could say that,” Aden told him, his mind immediately pulling up a vision of Carissa, followed by the memory of the slayer’s disintegrating body. Murderer.
“Girl trouble?”
“Among other things.”
“Well, if ya don't get it sorted out, come back to old Sean. I was quite the ladies’ man in my youth.”
“Don’t let Lily hear you say that.”
The old man grinned. “How do ya think I got my wife in the first place?”
Aden followed Sean into a back room, where he was handed a large ice chest. “Did the two of you have a lot in common?”
“Me and Lily?” Sean scratched his belly. “Not a thing, but ya know what they say about opposites.”
Aden nodded as he turned to leave, thinking about Carissa. Sean was eccentric, but he had a good point. Opposites did attract. Maybe nothing was as hopeless as he thought…
The sorcerer slammed his fist against the table, glaring at his assistant. “Are you telling me Daniel’s little pet killed one of Jasmine’s henchmen?”
T nodded. “Yes, sir. The guy at the front desk said he thought they used some sort of spell, but he couldn’t tell me for sure. When I checked the room, Bernard was nothing but sticky, blood-soaked, dust on the ratty old carpet.”
“Did you secure the video for that unit?”
“No, sir. Wade said it wasn’t working, and when I checked, I found that it had been intentionally disconnected. I fixed the issue.”
“And Wade?”
“As dead as the slayer.”
The sorcerer nodded. “Good. I will not tolerate incompetence. Next time we’ll send Jasmine, instead. Daniel should have no problem with his loyalties, then.” He stood up and clasped both hands behind his back. “What’s the situation with the Crimson Bayou Pack Master’s daughters? Is the eldest breeding yet?”
“No, sir. However, I have it on good authority that he’s planning on biting his youngest daughter within the week.”
“How good?”
“I met with him, myself, sir. He’ll do whatever it takes. He already has young Timothy watching her house. Drawing her out should be easy. The rest of the pack is at the compound. There will be no witnesses.”
“What about Daniel’s pet, this Aden fellow? What’s his last name, anyway?”
“I don’t know, sir, but I can find out. Either way, he’s under the protection of a sorceress. We can’t touch him.”
“This sorceress gave him a spell to strip our slayer’s immortality?”
“That’s what it looks like, sir.”
The sorcerer nodded again. “Was Wade the man the daughter saw in the rain a few nights ago? Was he the one that almost alerted them to our watchfulness?”
“Yes, sir. He told me as much before the life left his body.”
“Good. Continue with our plans, and leave Aden’s sorceress to me.”
Carissa spent the early part of the evening with her mother. They ate dinner and talked shop, with her mother trying to set her up on a blind date—a suggestion Carissa politely declined. She didn’t mention Aden, but he was on her mind when she told Teresa she wasn’t interested. Alien or not, the man was far more fascinating than any ex high school jock her mother might choose – and she really didn’t want to experience another assmonkey. By the time she left, it was close to midnight, and Carissa had repeated her “no” at least fifteen times, with her mother hearing nary a one.
Shaking her head with a smile, Carissa drove home. She anticipated Aden’s reaction to her note, and couldn’t wait to talk to him. So the minute she hopped out of her SUV, she walked across the street, her heart pounding when she noticed the note was no longer on the door. The drapes were shut, but she could still see light in the kitchen. She tried not to think too hard about the words she wrote – about how he might have taken them. Inhaling a deep breath, Carissa knocked on the door.
No one answered.
Carissa tried knocking again, wondering i
f didn’t hear her the first time. There was still no response. Shoulders slumped, she gave the door one last lingering look, and walked back to her house, her excitement gone. She snagged her purse from the front seat of her Durango on her way inside. She wanted to get comfortable and settle onto her couch with the book she never got to finish the other night. Since she didn’t have to work tomorrow, she could allow herself the time to soothe her nerves, to try and forget about her mysterious, sexy, fantastically kissable, possibly extraterrestrial neighbor.
Muttering under her breath, she dug into her purse for her phone, thinking she should put it on the charger, but as she fished the phone out, her hand encountered the envelope her grandmother gave to her. She pulled out the paper pouch, studying it with somber eyes. Can I do it? Can I finally unlock the shed and see what Ryan left behind? Opening the envelope, she poured the small metal key into her palm. It was unremarkable, but Carissa had a gut feeling that what it unlocked would be trouble. She hoped to find something out about Ryan’s supposed work-related texts—the ones that eventually sent him on his ill-fated trip to Monroe.
Carissa took a deep breath. It was now or never. Forcing her feet to walk—one wobbling step after the other—down the hallway to the back door was almost more difficult than the decision to return to Jaune. Her heart pounding as hard as when she knocked on Aden’s door, she crossed the small yard to the shed by her back fence. She stood for a moment, the key warm in her palm, before placing it into the lock. The hinges made no sound as the door swung open, but the breeze that blew across her body as it did so was at least ten degrees cooler than the humid bayou night.
She thanked whatever divine province planted the idea to have electricity installed, and reached up to pull the cord for light. As it flickered to life, she looked around, letting her eyes adjust before moving forward. Shelves lined the walls on either side of her, each holding multiple boxes with large, neat labels. Their old bed frame and mattresses, along with his office furniture, sat against the back panel of the shed. Ryan’s laptop was still sitting on the polished mahogany surface of his old desk—apparently, the movers hadn’t wanted to trouble themselves with putting it into the computer bag that sat beside it. Drawn to the electronic device as if by a magnet, Carissa walked to the rear of the shed and picked it up. Her decision made—she knew it was the perfect place to start.
Crimson Bayou (Things that go Bump in the Bayou Book 1) Page 11
