Don't Talk Back To Your Vampire

by Michele Bardsley

  “Why did it work for you?”

  Lorcan didn’t pretend that he didn’t know what I was talking about. “I’m one of the oldest vampires in existence, so I had the ability and strength to withstand the process. I was drained of blood and I fasted for as long as I could. Then I was infused with special blood donated from live lycans.”

  “Special?” I asked, wondering which lycans had donated their blood for the experiment.

  “Ever hear royalty and nobility called ‘blue-bloods’? Well, royal lycans literally have different blood from common lycanthropes,” said Jessica.

  “Who donated the blood?” I asked, unable to quell the question.

  Jessica looked at Patrick, who nodded consent.

  “Damian, Darrius, and Drake are royals. They donated the blood to cure Lorcan and they’re still donating blood for our attempts to create a cure for everyone.

  “The Wraiths haven’t figured out how Lor was cured—they just think they have. Stan’s been experimenting with a formula using royal lycan blood to cure the taint, but it’s a long way from working. Meanwhile, Ron the Dickhead gets a sick thrill outta turning tainted vampires into rampaging lycans.”

  “He does more than that,” said Patrick, grimacing. “He’s creating minions to do his dirty work.”

  “How can you tell a regular lycan from a hybrid?”

  “A true lycanthrope is a shape-shifter. He turns into a four-legged wolf. He has the ability to shift whenever he chooses. A hybrid is two-legged and hairy, like Bigfoot. He doesn’t shift because he wants to—the lycanthrope blood changes him. He can’t change back.”

  God, it sounded awful. Ron was truly evil to take a vampire already dying from the taint and make him spend his last moments on earth as a monster.

  “You can help us prevent more suffering,” said Patrick. “If we can find the other lycans, we can track Ron. We need to shut down his experiments, not only for the sake of Broken Heart but for all parakind.”

  “You want me to psychically connect to homicidal werewolves?” Terror rippled up my spine. “I poked at their minds last night, but I didn’t try to talk to them. Whoever mutated them didn’t care about how much they suffered. It was a very painful process.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” said Patrick gently, “but not helpful. We need to know where they’re hiding, how many more there are, and if the Wraiths are nearby.”

  “Tell her the rest.” Lorcan moved around the couch until he stood next to his brother. “Tell her what’s going to happen to the lycans.”

  “We can’t reverse the process.” Patrick grimaced. Jessica stepped into his embrace and he drew her against his chest. “Tainted vampires who are starved and then infused with dead lycan blood eventually go mad, either from the taint or from the further mutation of their bodies.”

  “If the taint doesn’t destroy them,” said Jessica, “then the lycan blood will.”

  I looked at Lorcan. “And that means . . .”

  “We must kill them.”

  Chapter 9

  “Oh, my God,” I said. “You’re going to kill Faustus?”

  “We aren’t saying that,” protested Jessica, but she couldn’t quite meet my eyes.

  “Eva, will you help us?” asked Patrick.

  I looked at Lorcan, though I hardly knew why. It wasn’t like we were connected. He wasn’t my friend, much less my mate—so why did it feel natural to want to confer with him about the decision?

  “You must follow your conscience,” he said.

  “Who are you, Jiminy Cricket?” asked Jessica. She rolled her eyes. “Eva, why don’t you take a gander at the lab? If you get too freaked, we’ll skip the Amazing Kreskin show.”

  By the time we got through all the security procedures and Stan’s explanation of the laboratory experiments and systems, I was ready to gnaw on any available neck. I shouldn’t have skipped breakfast. Hunger coupled with information overload was beginning to affect my mind and my body.

  It took eye scans, fingerprints, and voice analysis of both Stan and Patrick to open the thick metal door that led to the prison ward. When it finally swung open, lights flickered on in the narrow hallway and I peeked inside.

  Three large cells occupied either side. It was easy to see inside them; the front wall was floor-to-ceiling clear plastic. The remaining walls were bright white. Sticking out from the back partition was a long, thin white slab that I assumed was for sitting or sleeping. The whole place looked like something out of a science-fiction movie.

  “If you’re wondering how prisoners pee,” said Jessica, “there’s a little button that opens up a toilet. Same goes for food distribution. Oxygen is pumped in and recycled through these filter things Stan invented.” She pointed to the cell on the right. “The plastic is half a foot thick and is resistant to everything—bullets, acid, claws, fists, fangs . . . you name it. But Stan used his freakish brain to incorporate sound. You can hear the prisoners and they can hear you.”

  I nodded, but I wasn’t paying close attention. I could hear Stan’s heart beating. Hell, my ears were so attuned to the one human in our midst, I swear I could hear the blood slogging through his veins. My fangs were trying to poke through, but I resisted.

  The cells visible from my vantage point were empty, but if the noises coming from down the hall were any indication, at least one was occupied.

  “I’ll take her,” said Lorcan. He placed his hand at the small of my back and, with no other choice, I allowed him to guide me down the narrow hallway.

  The moment Faustus saw us, he went crazy. He smacked the clear plastic with fists and swiped it with claws. Spittle flew from his muzzle as he growled and screeched.

  Stop it! I sent into his mind.

  He stopped pounding on the barrier. His huge furry chest heaved as he stared at me. I looked at the scar on his face and wondered when and how he’d gotten it.

  Want out. He punched the wall. Out! Out! Out!

  Calm down. You have food, shelter, and safety. Nobody will hurt you.

  You lie. He moved away and paced. Escaped Wraiths. Betrayers! Die my way. Mine!

  My heart clenched. He knew that his time was limited—that he would die one way or another. Faustus . . .

  He turned suddenly and pressed his palms against the divider. His dark eyes burned into mine. My mind flickered—like someone turning on a television.

  I saw a man standing in a field. He was not alone, but the background was fuzzy—as if Vaseline had been smeared across a camera lens. The man wore a silver helmet with a red horsehair crest; over a leather shirt, he wore silver armor. The garment ended in long strips, showing off the silver leg coverings strapped on from knee to ankle. His feet were encased in leather sandals. On one side, a dagger hung from his belt, and from the other hung a sword. In his hand he held a long stick.

  “You were a Roman centurion,” I said. “How did you end up a Wraith?”

  His lips pulled back in a snarl. I held up my hands in supplication. This was an emotionally wounded creature—a man confined to animal form. Why he had turned from gentle giant to angry monster, I didn’t know. Sympathy wound through my fear. He was a trapped soul and he was suffering due to another’s desire to persecute. Then again, the Romans knew a thing or three about persecution. Maybe that was why Faustus was attracted to the Wraiths in the first place.

  I kept my gaze on his. Where are the others like you? How many are there? Where are the Wraiths?

  He shook his massive head. Possible to save us?

  I glanced at Lorcan, who watched our exchange with an impassive expression. Nervous, I tried to decide what to do. Lie to get the information? Give him false hope in order to further our cause? I swallowed my sigh. I couldn’t bring myself to add to his victimization.

  We don’t have a cure for the taint, Faustus. Even if we did, what’s been done to you is irreversible.

  He nodded, his palms sliding away from the plastic, and turned away.

  Please, help us, I sent out despe
rately. Tell us where the other lycans are—or at least where the Wraiths are located.

  Faustus didn’t answer. Instead he dropped to his knees, lifted his head, and howled. The sorrowful noise made my soul ache with misery. I’m sorry, Faustus. I’m so sorry.

  “This sucks.” Jessica crossed her arms and huffed. “What are we going to do now?”

  “We take measures to protect the town,” said Patrick. “And we find the hiding places of the lycans and the Wraiths.”

  “Patrols are already casing the town’s perimeter,” said Damian, the head of security, who had joined us in the laboratory. One of three triplet lycanthrope guardians, whom I knew now to be royals, he was tall, well muscled, and always wore black leather. He also scared the poo-dilly-poop out of me. I was grateful to know that he and his brothers were on the side of the Consortium.

  I stood close to Lorcan, trying not to look at either Stan, who smelled like a four-course meal, or Damian, whose blood seemed rather appetizing, too. As far as I knew, lycanthropes were not donors. Vampires needed to imbibe human blood, though we could live off of animals if necessary. I wondered where shape-shifters fit into the mix.

  “If the prisoner isn’t going to be of use,” said Damian, “then we should terminate him.”

  “No!” Everyone turned to stare at me. Shocked, I realized the protest had issued from my lips.

  “I know it sounds like a shitty thing to do,” said Jess. “But, honey, he can’t be saved. It’s the kindest action we can take.”

  I shook my head, feeling too unnerved to voice another protest.

  Damian, who’d been leaning against the counter, straightened. He studied me for a moment. “It is unfortunate, Liebling, but necessary.”

  I knew that he was patronizing me. He thought me cute and nice, but not a threat. Damian was strong and he was smart, but he hadn’t considered the idea that if I could read one lycan’s thoughts I could read another’s.

  “You don’t think it’s unfortunate at all,” I said quietly. “You look forward to seeing the unworthy half-breed destroyed.”

  Damian was a master at self-control, but not even he could prevent the flash of stunned surprise that crossed his face.

  “He didn’t volunteer for the Wraiths’ mutation program,” I said. “Perhaps you understand something about that.”

  “Stay out of my head,” he said in a low voice. He stepped forward, fists clenched. A growl issued from his throat. I recoiled internally, but though it scared me, I held my ground.

  “What are you doing, Damian?” asked Lorcan in a polite voice. He stepped forward, half shielding me. “Surely you’re not threatening Eva.”

  “No,” he ground out. “I need to check in with my teams.” With a heated glance at me, he stalked out of the lab.

  Jessica poked my shoulder. “What the hell did you see in that furball’s mind?”

  “Nothing.” I knew Damian’s secret, but I wouldn’t reveal it—not even to Jessica.

  I turned to Patrick. “Faustus served Rome as a centurion. Once he was a good man, and even now he’s a proud one. If he must die, allow him to choose his death. He deserves that much.”

  “I will take your concerns and suggestions to the Consortium,” he said. “But in the end, the decision is not mine to make.”

  Bureaucratic pass-the-buck bullshit. I hadn’t expected Patrick to fall back on a company line. Admittedly, I had always found it strange that a group of vampires had created a corporate environment.

  Lorcan took hold of my arm. “I will escort Eva home.”

  “Yeah,” said Jessica, grinning widely. “You do that.”

  “Why did you not feed?” asked Lorcan.

  “Kitty rescue. Faustus delivery. Mutant mind meld,” I said, feeling light-headed and weird. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought I was tipsy. “It’s been a busy morning—er, evening.”

  “To say the least.”

  Once we had exited the house, Lor let go of me. I regretted the loss of contact. No doubt about it. Lorcan O’Halloran was yum-yum-yummy. Regret wiggled through me. For just a moment, I wished I were alive and normal and on a date. Dream on, Eva.

  We walked down the driveway, which was dark, wide, and nearly a mile long. I supposed that at some point it was considered more of a road than a drive, but since it led only to the Silverstone house it hardly mattered what one called it.

  “Who are your regular donors?” he asked.

  “Charlie and Alison. They live at Jess’s old place.”

  “Then I will take you there.” He paused. “Perhaps not Charlie. He seems to have developed a crush on you.”

  I glanced at him. “Why don’t you offer a pint?”

  “No one drinks from me,” he said.

  “You still have the taint?” My heart did a loop-de-loop.

  He shook his head. “No. But we are still studying the effects of the blood exchange that saved me.”

  “How did you get the taint?” I asked. I was being too inquisitive. My usual stance was that people were entitled to their secrets and their sorrows. If someone wanted me to know something, they would tell me. However, I’d plucked a secret from Damian’s thoughts and now I was asking for one from Lor.

  “It’s a long story,” he said. “And I’m in no mood to tell it.”

  “You only have one mood,” I muttered. “Morose.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Um . . . er . . . huh?”

  “Have you lost your bravery already, a stóirín?”

  “My badge of courage fell off,” I said and snickered. “Hey, can I use your phone again?”

  “Where is yours?” he asked as he slipped the slim device from his pocket.

  I slapped my forehead. “It was in the backpack I dropped in the forest last night.”

  “I’ll find it for you,” said Lorcan. “Promise me you’ll stay out of the woods.”

  I tried not to make promises I couldn’t keep, so I kept quiet. I took the phone and punched in Tamara’s cell number. It rang and rang and rang, then flipped over to voice mail. Frowning, I left another message. I dialed the library phone. No one answered.

  “I need to go home,” I said. “Tamara still isn’t picking up the phone and that’s not like her. I have to check in on her.”

  Lorcan tucked the phone into his pocket, then gestured me forward. “Let’s go. But as soon as you know she’s okay, you must feed.”

  “Yes, mo-ther.”

  Lor wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing me into his chest. I felt no warmth, no reassuring beat of his heart—yet the heat of desire bloomed in my belly and warmed me right through. I twirled my hair and tucked it between us so that it wouldn’t blow in Lor’s face. It was girly of me to do it, but I rested my head on his shoulder. It might’ve been my imagination, but I thought Lor’s arms tightened around me. As we took off, I felt a little jump in my stomach.

  The air blew coolly against my face, the faint scent of honeysuckle teasing me as we passed over the razed high school grounds. Three months ago, the Wraiths had blown up the high school in the hope that they would off most of Broken Heart’s citizens.

  The night looked like black velvet with the occasional piercing of diamond stars. Coasting through the air in the arms of a handsome man struck me as romantic. I smiled and flexed my hands against Lor’s back. For a monk who spent most of his time reading and writing, he was finely built.

  “Eva,” he murmured. I thought I heard laughter in his voice.

  We arrived at the house far too quickly. As we had the evening before, we landed on the balcony that led to my former bedroom. Still feeling giddy, I reluctantly pried myself out of Lor’s arms. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “My pleasure.”

  If I hadn’t known better, I might have described the emotion glimmering in his eyes as desire. If Lor managed to forgive himself long enough to pursue a relationship with a woman, why would he choose me? Mom always said that you had to be wanted for yourself, faults an
d all. She told me she’d had that kind of love with Dad—that they balanced each other. “Between us,” she’d often say with a soft laugh, “we made a whole person.”

  “I’ll see you later,” I said, turning away from Lor.

  He grabbed my hand. “Wait.”

  Surprised, I faced him.

  We stared at each other for a long moment. His eyes shifted from silver to dark gray, his pupils contracting. Then he blinked and all I saw in his soulful gaze was yearning.

  He cupped my face, hesitant. We had no real breath, no dance of pulses, and no frantic thud of heartbeats. But desire existed all the same. I could keep the past between us. Yes, I could use it like a wedge to keep us apart.

  Just like he was doing.

  Instead, I closed the gap between our lips.

  His mouth captured mine and I melted into his embrace, quaking from his sudden and gentle conquering of my lips.

  Our kisses were tentative. Butterfly wings. Soap bubbles. Angel feathers.

  Then I dipped my tongue inside his mouth. He sucked on it, causing hot desire to roar through me. Lust backdraft.

  He gathered me closer still, holding me tight as his tongue warred with mine. My hands delved into his loose hair and I tugged, desperate as one of those television housewives. I wanted more, so much more than this—I wanted Lorcan.

  Then, like a candle flame doused by the wind, it was over.

  “Evangeline.” He sounded ragged and hoarse and regretful. Frowning, he cupped my face once more. “I regret nothing.”

  “Why are you in my head? Why can you—”

  “Ssshh. We’ll talk about it soon. I promise.”

  I accepted his evasion, but it made me nervous to know that he could read my thoughts . . . the same way I could read his.

  “Let’s go check on Tamara,” he said.

  “You don’t have to babysit me. I’m not going to ditch feeding.” I pressed a hand against my stomach. “I’m starving.”

  Smiling, he laced his fingers through mine and, unable to resist his chivalry (or bossiness, depending on how you looked at it), I led him through the bedroom. He held my hand down all the flights of stairs and by the time we hit the hallway, I was feeling moon-eyed and tingly.