by Mandy Lee
All the laughing, high, drunk, and lust-filled faces seemed to be mocking him. All B needed was a hit of salvia to join them in their disregard for reality; he too could escape into oblivion. If he could find one dealer, which shouldn’t be too hard in this place, he could stop caring whether he hurt Mara or not, and he could go back to being the good time guy without a care in the world.
As he slid farther along the wall, he spied a demon he recognized. Alrik was a well-known dealer in the underworld. He’d made his life in the past as a warrior, and still bore the stance and bearing of his Viking background. B almost sighed in relief. He’d bought off of Alrik many times before, and he knew he’d be able to get right again as long as he could come up with some kind of payment arrangement. It seemed as though he’d arrived at this mystery club without any of his own clothes and, the last he remembered, his wallet had been in his pants.
As B neared Alrik, he slid the hood of his sweatshirt back from his face and caught his eye, giving him the buyer’s nod. Alrik finished a quick handoff with another customer before tilting his head at B, motioning him over to a darkened corner curtained off from the rest of the club. Stumbling slightly as his joints protested, B made his way over to the private area and collapsed onto the padded bench seat beside Alrik.
Leaning forward, Alrik shoved his cheek length blond hair back behind his ear, blinked his cat-shaped eyes, and gave B a sly smile.
“So, what can I do for you, my friend?”
B clasped his shaking hands on his knees. “Salvia. You holding?” He asked in a quaking voice.
Alrik nodded. “When have you ever known me not to be?”
B nodded shakily. “Good, I need a hit. There’s just the small problem…of payment.”
Chuckling, Alrik replied. “Well, yes, I’d say that would be a problem, though maybe not a small one.”
“I just,” B shivered from withdrawal. “I’ve been buying off you for ages. Is there anything we can work out? I can get you human cash or Sheolic ducats by tomorrow. I just really need a hit now to get my head straight.”
Alrik leaned back in the bench seat and propped his feet up on the circular table in front of him. “I’m not usually known for donating to charity, but I’ll give this one to you on the house. Think of it as my version of a customer loyalty plan…like I'm punching your points card or something.”
B’s breath came out in a relieved whoosh. “Oh, thank fuck.”
Alrik chuckled and reached into an inside pocket of his coat. He drew out a clear plastic baggie of white powder. He poured it out on the table and pulled out a credit card, separating the powder out into three perfectly parallel lines with a practiced flair. Alrik fished around in his wallet and pulled out a fiver that he proceeded to roll into a tube. Alrik smiled as he held the tube out for B.
B snatched the fiver with the desperation of a dying man. Alrik laughed out loud as he leaned back into his chair with a self-satisfied smile.
“Yet another happy customer.”
B ignored his dealer’s smugness as he snorted the lines of salvia at record speed. His sinuses burned and his nose began to feel familiarly numb as he sat up straight and swiped the back of his hand over his face. The massive amount of salvia he’d just inhaled took immediate effect. He felt the euphoria start to take hold and sighed with relief. Five minutes from now he would be feeling like his old self…well, his old self with a slowly-healing slice around his throat. Five minutes until he would be good to go find Mara, apologize to her, and then head back to The Advocate. The guys must be chasing their tails trying to figure out what had happened to him. At least now he had some intel to share. Keir had to be neutralized or they would all be vulnerable.
“Better?” Alrik asked as he plopped his feet back down on the ground and leaned forward in his seat.
“Much.” B said with a smile.
He slid forward in his seat, getting ready to stand up when his smile began to falter. Something didn’t feel right. The world in front of him pitched and tilted with every movement of his body. B threw out his hand to steady himself on the tabletop, his face a mask of confusion.
“Something wrong friend?” Alrik asked with a smirk.
“I…what’s happening to me?” B stuttered as he slid down farther into the couch cushions. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his foggy vision; his limbs felt like they had been weighted down by cement blocks.
Alrik wrapped his arm around his confused companion, giving him a condescending pat on the shoulder.
“Well, that’s probably the little extra treat I mixed into the salvia. I can’t have you making a scene now, can I?”
“What?” B slurred, his tongue felt like a sponge in his mouth.
He looked into the eyes of his dealer and would have cried out in surprise if he could still feel his face. Alrik’s eyes were swimming with a kaleidoscope of colour. B was drawn in, unable to break away from the pull of whatever magic had taken hold. The skin on his face began to ripple, and tiny scales began to flip and fold as his appearance began to shift and reform. This was the worst trip of B’s life.
He thought back to the night he’d met Mara. He’d helped her out in a jam and had wound up having an anxiety attack of epic proportions that resulted in him putting his fist through the mirror in his bathroom. He remembered looking at his shattered reflection in the glass. The B he had seen in the mirror had been a twisted and perverted version of himself. This was so similar, but infinitely worse. There, sitting beside him was…himself. Alrik had morphed into his smirking evil twin. The end was most definitely nigh.
Unable to move, to defend himself, or to cry out, B felt himself being hoisted up and supported by Alrik’s arm around his waist. The hood on his sweatshirt was yanked over his face, obscuring his already-impaired vision, covering his face from view. His head lolled forward. All he could see was the floor rising and falling like the waves of the ocean as he was half-walked, half-dragged out of the club by his companion. The cool night air hit his face as they exited the building. Moments later he felt his feet leave the ground as he was tossed roughly into the trunk of a parked vehicle. The lights from the parking lot winked above him like stars in the night, then everything went black as the trunk was slammed shut, closing him up in silence and darkness like a coffin.
Chapter Fourteen
The lights of the city looked like a million fireflies in the night as the cool air whipped Mara’s long, red curls around her shoulders and into her eyes. She swiped them back behind her ears only to have them flying around her field of vision again two minutes later. With a weary sigh, Mara reached into her jeans pocket, pulled out a hair tie, twisted her hair into a rough bun, and secured it firmly in place.
This had been her thinking spot since she’d moved to the city. The roof of the hospital was a calm oasis in a life of blood and trauma. Mara walked toward one of the waist-high walls that surrounded the flat surface. Smoke belched from a variety of vents and pipes that wound their way up from the bowels of the building. She leaned on the wall, resting her chin in the cradle of her arms. Instead of coming here for peace, this time she was here to berate herself for being an idiot. After three centuries, she was still making the same rookie mistakes. What was it that made her constantly lust after the wrong men? She’d felt something different with B, like they had some sort of otherworldly connection…not to mention he was dead sexy. Mara felt like such an idiot. At least she only made B sick; the last one wanted to kill her.
“I must be moving in the right direction.” She muttered to herself, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
Mara closed her eyes and let the cool night air waft over her face as she thought back to the last time she’d felt this primal connection to another being.
It had been 1709, and she’d been known as Lady Mara James. She had been the youngest daughter of a Baronet with family holdings near York. Her family was well off and she had been the indulged apple of her father’s eye. Her mother died in childbirth, leaving beh
ind the baby girl that would grow to look so like her mother that the Baronet was unable to deny her every whim. Lady Mara was raised with all the trappings of the aristocracy — music lessons, dance lessons, the finest governesses money could buy, but she felt an overwhelming desire to explore the world beyond the bounds of her gilded cage. When not attending teas and hosting her father’s visitors, Mara had immersed herself in books…tales of adventure and intrigue, of love and loss.
Mara's doting father had indulged her desire to seek out an elusive love match. With two elder brothers and a sister already well married and producing offspring, Mara was under no pressure to marry for status or money. She’d watched as the other young ladies of her acquaintance were married off to eligible bachelors of good standing in matches that more closely resembled business arrangements than anything else. Mara dreamed of meeting a man of the world, someone who would take her travelling, that would make her a partner in their adventures, someone who would sweep her away in passion.
On the night of her twentieth birthday ball, she met just such a man. Through the bustle of the dancers Mara noticed him and his brooding stare, his chiselled good looks, and his dashing attire. Thanking the Lord that her father had decked her out in a beautiful new gown and sparkling family gems, Mara snuck peeks at him throughout the evening. Her friends all twittered about the mysterious guest. He was supposedly a Marquis visiting from France, travelling through England in search of a wife. He was said to be rich as Croesus with a taste for travel and fine living.
At first she’d written him off as yet another wealthy, handsome, young lord that was looking for a pretty wife to dangle from his arm. Her thoughts changed radically when he cut a swath through the room toward her. He moved like a lion, predatory and dangerous, dark and sensual. Mara had never experienced anything of the sort, but she had a vivid imagination and had read stories of love and lust. His bow spoke of old world refinement, and when he took her hand, placing his lips lightly on her skin like a butterfly, she’d felt her heart leap and her pulse quicken. As they danced he moved a little too close, she felt the brush of his legs through her skirts against hers, the slight pressure of his hand on the small of her back as they passed each other in formation of the dance. With every touch and every look, she fell deeper under the spell he wove. They didn’t speak that night and had just the one dance, but Mara felt his touch and dreamed of his eyes for days and nights after.
Unable to get her mystery man out of her mind, Mara’s dreams finally came true the following week when he called on her at her father’s house. His name was Philippe, and he told her tales of duels fought in the name of love, of travels to exotic lands, and of his desire to find his match. Mara felt herself being drawn in by his accent, his chocolate brown eyes, and each stolen illicit touch of her hand. Throughout the following weeks, Philippe made regular visits to her home. He made her believe he loved her and that he was going to take her away from her boring life and introduce her to excitement and adventure.
Philippe asked her father and was granted her hand in marriage. Mara was thrilled when her father informed her and readily agreed to an evening meeting with her soon-to-be betrothed in the rose garden of her father’s manor house. She dressed with care, donning the new gown she’d worn the night they’d met at the ball. Her lady’s maid arranged her hair in intricate coils with tiny diamond-encrusted clips.
Mara waited alone in the gazebo. The moon shone full and bright; the stars twinkled. The world seemed full of promise. Her heart sped as her suitor approached. He looked so fine. Philippe swept her up in his arms and twirled her around. Mara’s heart soared as she held onto her love, face buried in his neck, breathing in the scent of his cologne.
Butterflies took flight in her stomach as she felt his lips travelling from her neck up to the line of her jaw. She’d never been kissed like this before. The extent of her experience with men had been kisses on the back of her hand by suitors when they’d visited during proper afternoon calls, all overseen by chaperones. Mara’s body shook with awakening passion as he moved along her jawline and up to her lips that he took in a blistering kiss. Philippe licked along the seam of her lips, encouraging her to open her mouth to his invasion. As her lips opened to his prodding, Philippe’s tongue slid into her mouth to tangle with hers. Mara felt her body warm as he seduced her with his mouth. Philippe grasped her more tightly, his hand sliding from the small of her back down to grasp her bottom, pulling her flush against his hardness. Mara moaned in pleasure.
Emboldened, she slid her tongue into Philippe’s mouth, intending to elicit the same reaction from him. Her tongue caught on something sharp; she tasted copper as a small amount of her blood flowed out from the wound. Philippe growled and grabbed her more tightly, holding onto her so hard she felt like her ribs were going to snap from the pressure. He kissed her harder. More blood flooded her mouth. It must have been his, as the wound on her tongue had been too small to produce this much flow. Unable to break away from the savage kiss, Mara swallowed the mouthful of their mingled blood, gagging from the metallic taste. Philippe yanked her head back by her hair. Mara felt the bones in her neck grind and heard the tiny diamond hair clips tinkle down on the floor of the gazebo. Pain shot up and down her body, she was growing disoriented from her inability to breathe, his arms like iron bands around her. An excruciating tearing at her neck made her almost lose consciousness. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes while Mara felt a warm liquid sliding down her neck into the bodice of her dress. This was it. She was going to die here in her father’s gazebo at the hands of the man…or not a man…that she thought she would marry. Her dream had turned into a nightmare. Mara felt the horrendous suction on her neck cease, and as she slipped toward unconsciousness from blood loss she finally took a good look at Philippe’s real face. His eyes were glowing a bright red, his lips were smeared with her blood, and his fangs were long and pointed as he laughed with glee. Then the world went black.
Mara woke, her ears inundated by the sounds of crashing, buzzing, and wailing coming from all around her. She opened her eyes and saw colors blurring and blending into each other in the light of the moon. Mara was panicked. Her eyes weren’t working, it sounded like she was in the middle of a war zone, but her heart wasn’t racing…and she wasn’t breathing. Her hand flew to her chest that was still as the grave. She blinked hard in an attempt to clear her vision. Looking down, she saw the state of her dress. She was covered in grass stains, dirt, dried blood, and leaves. Through her blurring and shifting vision, she peered around her, seeing only trees and nature. She had no idea where she was. Mara reached out to brace herself on a tree and came away with a chunk of the tree trunk clutched in her hand. She stared at it in confusion for a moment before dropping the hunk of wood on the ground. She tried to stand again, stumbling to her feet under her own muster. Her stomach clenched painfully and she doubled over, clutching her middle. Her jaw began to ache and she felt a shifting in her mouth. Sliding her tongue around inside her mouth she felt new sharp points protruding from her incisors.
Mara knew something was horribly wrong. She had to get home to her father. Once she got home, she’d be able to figure everything out. Her memories were jumbled and her stomach was killing her. She moved through the forest, the trees blurring as she jogged. Within moments, she neared the cottage of her father’s groundskeeper. She looked back from where she’d come. How had she managed to get this far in such a short time? Suddenly, a new smell assaulted her; it smelled like heaven and life itself. It took her a moment to discern what it was. When she did, her mind rebelled against her body’s reaction. Blood. Her brain told her it was disgusting, but her body said it was a sweet ambrosia. Unable to stop herself, Mara stumbled toward the cottage. She peered through the window and saw the groundskeeper and his wife sitting at a wooden table eating their evening meal. Mara was close enough to hear the blood pumping in their veins. The glorious smell was overtaking her sense of reason, and her stomach was clenching and twisting wi
th a primal need. Before she knew it, she was in motion, hurtling through the cottage door in a frenzy. Mara’s mind went blank and her body operated on instinct.
When she finally came to, Mara found herself standing in the middle of the groundskeeper’s cottage. Overturned furniture was strewn all around her. She was covered head to toe in blood, the groundskeeper’s body was hanging from her grip, his weight nothing to her. His neck was torn open, but no blood seeped from the wound. She dropped the corpse to the ground in horror. It landed with a splat directly on top of the lifeless body of his wife. Mara stepped back in horror, crashing into the dining table. She raised her shaking hands, examining the blood that was now caked under her fingernails. She knew she should be horrified with what she’d done, but a part of her revelled in the chaos she’d created.
The scrape and bang of the metal door on the roof of the hospital drew Mara’s attention back to the present. She twisted her head around and saw her favourite person in the world striding toward her with a carefree wave of his hand. Alex. What would she ever have done without him? He’d managed to drag her out of the mire of her turning, and help her become the vampire she was today. He’d given her a purpose in life and had been a constant in the strange and twisted otherworld she’d found herself in.
“There’s my crazy redhead!” Alex shouted out as he made his way over.
Mara gave him a forlorn smile. “Not feeling too crazy at the moment.”
Alex leaned on the ledge alongside her. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Oh, you know.” Mara waved her hand dismissively. “Just wondering why I’m an idiot when it comes to men. I think my picker’s broken.”
