by Deanna Chase
“Hey, big boy,” I cooed, “wanna play?”
Instantly I felt my body transform into his idea of perfection. Tall and waif thin, hooked nails and long fangs.
Ehh, to each their own.
He reached out for me and I grabbed his hand. “I know a private place.”
He grinned and when he stood he grabbed my butt, squeezing hard.
My stomach churned and bile rose in my throat the second he touched me. I hated this. Hated the slut Lust could force me to become. But I shoved it aside; I did this because I had no choice. I did this, because if I didn’t, the demon side of me would become dominant and kill any innocent unfortunate enough to step in its path.
~*~
The vampire stared with sightless eyes. Its still beating heart held firm in my hand. After the sex, I’d lured him to a thicket of trees. I’d told him it was because I’d always fantasized about making love outdoors. Truth was I had to kill him away from prying eyes. I knew the game. I didn’t kill after sex often, but you didn’t live to be as old I am without learning the rules. The first and most important rule of the neph: Leave no evidence.
I threw his heart to the ground and stomped it underfoot. It looked and sounded a little like squishing a rotten tomato with your fist. The heart exploded in a crimson shower of blood and gore and then it was consumed by black flame, charring it instantly and turning it into a fine black powder. A strong breeze picked up the particles and carried it away.
I dug a ditch with my bare hands. The damp earth sifted between my fingers like fine sand. What might have taken a human hours to do; I’d done in five minutes. With a hole suitable enough to bury a body in, I threw the vamp inside and kicked the dirt back over him until all that was left was a small lump of overturned dirt and debris. I ran my hand over the spot where he lay, pushing glamour into it so that if anyone passed by they’d get a vague sense of unease and scoot along.
Standing, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, feeling his blood smear. It made me gag. I needed to clean up. Get him off me. Forget this had happened. Or what had caused it to happen. One day shouldn’t have been enough to turn me so desperate. I couldn’t understand it and it worried me.
I was too lost to the thoughts in my head. I should have been more focused on my surroundings. By the time I figured that out, it was already too late.
The sharp whistle of metal flying through the air rang loud in my ears. I looked up, just in time to see a silver star rip into my upper shoulder. Shocked, I couldn’t move. Then I heard a loud thump and stood face to face with a pair of dull brown eyes.
My heart tripped. “Billy?”
He snarled.
“I knew you were dangerous.”
“Shut up,” he growled, then a fist slammed into my temple and my world turned black.
Chapter 3
First thing I noticed was the metallic, too bitter taste in the back of my throat. When the bastard hit me I must have bitten my tongue, because it had the taste of old blood. I winced at the dull throb blooming in my temple. I tried to touch my head, but couldn’t. My wrists were bound and the way he’d tied them back stretched the wound in my shoulder.
Right now it was a tolerable ache, but it was one of those cuts that as the night progressed would begin to feel worse if I didn’t heal myself. There was only one way to do that. After the way he’d ambushed me, I didn’t think Billy would be up to the task.
Or myself for that matter. Cute as he was, I was seriously torn between my desire to bed him or slit his throat. Right now, I was pulling more for the latter.
I shifted and that’s when I realized the bastard had tied my ankles too.
Well la-de-da, wasn’t he the smart one? I was really starting to hate cowpoke Billy.
Although he'd made a tactical error, trying to subdue me with a piece of rope was about as stupid as trying to stop a herd of angry elephants with trip wire. Nothin’ doin’, as Bubba would say.
The stomp of booted feet and thud of books falling to the floor made me crack one eye open to look.
I’d made one mistake tonight. I wasn’t about to make another. He wouldn’t know I’d roused until I was good and ready to let him know.
The only light in the room came from the flicker of several lit candles. I was sitting in a chair, in the middle of a living room. I wiggled my toes. They sank into a soft blue and red patterned Turkish rug.
Surely he hadn’t...
I opened my eyes a little wider and glanced to my left. Dark, royal purple drapes hung from the small windows. Crosses of every shape and size covered an entire section of wall and a ratty, brown leather love seat sat catty-cornered at the wall nearest the door.
That bastard.
I clamped my jaw shut, taking deep breaths in and out, willing the frothing anger away.
This was my trailer.
My foot jerked in frustration. Where were my boots? If he’d ruined them, I’d kill him. No, maybe I’d kill him either way.
Those had been my favorite pair. It was hard to come by leather so well broken in, not to mention they made my legs look amazing.
Yes, I was vain. So sue me.
I grit my teeth, but uttered not a sound. For once Luc would have been proud. I was actually being patient, studious. Normally I’d snap first, ask questions later. I’m not sure why I wasn’t giving into instinct. Maybe I was curious. Then again, you know what they say about curiosity and the cat...
Piss the curious cat off and get filleted.
Billy moved from one bookshelf to the other, yanking books out, throwing them to the floor as if they were little more than your everyday paperbacks. Dispensable. A dime a dozen. But they weren’t a dime a dozen. Some were first edition classics, given to me by the author’s themselves. Others had literally helped shape and define cultures.
His finger grazed my leather bound Oedipus Rex. If he pulled that down, patience be damned, I’d gouge his eyeballs out. It’s not hard, a little squeeze in the right place and, pop, out they come.
I seethed seeing him touch my things.
He lingered for a while longer, then seemed to think better of it and moved on.
Good boy. He’d live to see another day.
“You’re awake.” That voice was like smooth-malt whiskey, deep and full-bodied. I shivered.
“Excellent.”
His back was to me. How had he known? I hadn’t made noise.
He finally seemed to settle on a book. He grabbed it and turned, still not looking at me, he traced the gold lettering on the front cover.
I narrowed my eyes. “I see you found my home. Mind telling me how?” I tried, but failed, to keep the dripping anger from my tone.
Those plain eyes of his flicked to my face. His was an unreadable mask as he studied me. Then he shrugged. “I’ve been watching you.”
“How long?”
He opened the book and flipped through a couple of pages.
My nostrils flared. Anger settled like a hot coal in my gut. He was ignoring me. People had done far less and I’d hurt them far worse.
Darn me and my philanthropic ways. I’d let him go, and this was how he repaid me. Pushing glamour into my hands, I filled my wrists with heat where the rope touched. I’d cut through this thing and then wrap it around his neck, see how he liked it.
“I wouldn’t if I was you,” he finally said, looking up from the book and slamming it shut. He moved toward me with the careless grace of a jungle cat, before I could even blink he was upon me. His heat invading mine, his face hovering inches above me.
There was anger...and something else, something I had no name for, glittering in those eyes. He placed his hands on either side of my chair and turned me around. I cringed. That rug had cost a small fortune.
“You tear it you buy it,” I hissed.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. He wasn’t as young as I’d initially assumed him to be. Up close like this I could see the lines and wrinkles of age. Earlier I’d assumed him a fresh-faced college grad, now he re
minded me much more of the hot college professor all the girls gossiped about.
He was still wearing the ball cap and I had a sick feeling I now knew why.
I’d assumed him human. But no human, even one as strong as a tank, could have gotten through the wards of my trailer, or for that matter masked the fact that he’d been following me.
My heart thudded...
“Don’t push me. You’re lucky you’re still alive.” His lip curled. “Nephilim.”
...and then it sank to my knees.
Oh this was bad.
He pushed away from me, making the chair rock back from the force of it. The pain in my head and shoulder that had become slightly tolerable exploded back to life in a rush of stomach churning queasiness. I squeezed my eyes shut; biting down until I felt my teeth would shatter from the pressure and counted to ten, waiting for the worst of it to pass before I dared open my eyes again.
He sat on the love seat, his long lean frame settling in like someone who’d done this a million times before. Which made me wonder, had he? Just how long had Billy been watching me?
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. I should have sensed this. Him. How had I wound up in this mess?
I could always feel the presence of something not quite normal; it was like an irritating buzz below the surface of my skin. But even now, with Billy right in front of me, I felt nothing. The only other time I failed to sense the presence of other beings was if they were equal to, or greater in strength than myself. Which was rare. I was about as high on the totem pole as they came.
I clenched my jaw. This was not good.
Again he opened the book, flipping to the middle and read in silence.
My heart pounded.
Billy was Pontifex Mortus—meaning priest of death, the name had stuck to them back sometime during the medieval ages when our scholars spoke mostly Latin. The Pontifex Mortus are to us what a mongoose is to a cobra. B-A-D news.
Several hundred years after we’d come into being, they’d been born. Their existence consisted of only one thing. Killing us. Aside from angels and high caste demon lords, we fear nothing so much as them. We aren’t sure how, or by whom, but the Pontifex Mortus—priests, we prefer to call them—have been given the necessary tools to wipe us out. It isn’t easy to kill one of us, but the right knowledge in the wrong hands, and we’re goners.
They’re shadow. Able to blend in. Hide among the general population. And it’s hard to say, with any type of certainty what they really are—humans with extrasensory perception and power, or something more—we don’t know. They have abilities and skills beyond that of mortals, but you can never seem to find anyone who knows for certain, because you never bump into a priest more than once. Since meeting one of them tends to turn you one hundred percent, grade-A dead.
So then how does the myth remain? How can we know priests exist and that they aren’t our version of the boogey man? Two reasons. Two things we know that will always remain a constant. A. You cannot fake that shade of hair. I don’t know who figured out that priests are silver, but any sighting has always confirmed it.
This is pretty laughable actually; since a priest sighting is about as trustworthy as an Elvis sighting. I eyed Billy. Though it didn’t feel so laughable anymore. Proof positive sat slouched on my couch and thumbing his nose at me.
And B. Because the sick bastards left the same calling card at each and every scene.
Revelations 21:8 scribbled onto a sheet of paper and tucked someplace on the body, in the body...and when I say “in”, yes, I mean in. I found a girl, two hundred years ago, with a yellowed, blood soaked sheaf of parchment rolled up and tucked inside her aortic valve. Just one of the many creative ways they have to let us know they’re watching.
And they call us sick. I say it’s the pot calling the kettle black. But what do I know?
Which was why the carnival had been so perfect. We’d stopped laying roots centuries ago. It was hard to kill what you couldn’t track. To know one had found us meant we’d made a mistake.
My stomach turned sour.
“Take off your hat?”
He glanced at me, then smiled. It was cold and arrogant and made me want to rip it off, then feed it to Bubba for good measure.
“Why not. We have nothing to hide between us. Isn’t that right, Pandora?” He was taunting me, trying to scare me. And it was working. But that didn’t mean I’d give him the satisfaction of knowing it.
I narrowed my eyes. “Take it off.”
He flipped the cap off, unveiling his hair.
Any lingering hope I’d had, died.
Silver. But this wasn’t the gray of aging humans. This stuff gleamed like poured metal frosted over in a snowy night.
It was short and shaggy. Spiking up at odd angles and my hands itched to touch it. Blood rushed through my veins so hard and heavy I wondered if he could hear it.
Why was I still turned on by him?
Freaking Lust.
“So I’m guessing your name’s not Billy.”
He smiled, his eyes twinkled and for a split second it transformed him from a brooding Bruce Wayne kind of hot, to Batman. Way more beautiful and twice as deadly. My thighs tingled.
“And Belle?” What I was going for was righteous anger, what I got was sex-me-up breathy.
“None of your business,” he snapped.
“Fine. Then answer my earlier question.”
He lifted a brow.
“How long?”
“How long what?”
These games were beginning to wear thin. So maybe he’d leveled the playing field now that I knew he was priest, but that didn’t mean I’d let him take me down without a fight.
“Pretty only gets you so far, Pontifex Mortus.” I poured as much venom into that name as he’d poured into nephilim.
His nostrils flared.
“Obviously you know what I am. You know these ropes won’t hold me worth crap if I don’t want them to.”
“Is that a threat?” A muscle in his jaw ticked.
“You’re not the one trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, I am. Do I look threatening?” My smile was pure poison.
He laughed. Literally threw his head back and gave one of those deep belly chuckles reserved for moments when someone is really tickled. The sound of it tightened things down low, made me squirm. Made me hate him more than I already did.
Then he went serious. That stern look fixed back in place. It was creepy how quick he could do that. I’d seen others attempt it, but no one had done it with quite the same panache. It was a transformation so fast that it made you question your sanity.
“Why do you have this?” He waved the book he’d been reading at me like one might brandish a sword.
“What?” I shook my head. “The Bible?”
“Yes, the Bible, what’s it doing here?” His mouth set in a firm line, but I heard what he wasn’t asking. What he didn’t say was: What was the Bible doing in the home of a hell spawn?
“Over sixty percent of households have one, priest. Is it a crime?”
“Yes!” He shot to his feet, murderous rage dripped from his tongue like venom. “You’re a demon.”
I lifted a brow. “Half. Half demon, Priest. You gonna accuse me of something get it right.”
“You,” he pointed at me, “are an abomination. What would you know about light?”
Wow, insult the demon. How original. If Billy was looking for a reaction from me to justify his actions or to salve his conscience then he was screwed. I wasn’t taking the bait.
“Again, I ask you...why is it here?” His shoulders heaved with his labored breathing.
Why oh why had I decided to park my trailer so far away from the safety of the pack? All this yelling would have had my demon hoard—as I’m sure death god here thought of them—running to my door.
“Thou believest that there is one God; thou doest well; the devils also believe, and tremble. James 2:19,” I finally said.
He looked as if I’d s
lapped him.
“What I read is my business,” I snapped.
“Ye have heard that it was said of them of old time, thou shall not kill. Matthew 5:21.” His words were steel tempered in black velvet, they shivered down my spine. I licked my lips. “I saw you kill a man tonight. I saw you kill one in Austin. I saw you kill a girl in Venice.” With each sentence he’d walked a little closer until now his face was back to within inches of mine. Sandalwood wrapped me up in its heady embrace. “Would you like me to go on?”
His lips were a feather’s touch from mine. Jeez, he had nice lips. The kind you wanted to pull into your mouth and suck on.
Then it struck me what he’d said. Venice. The last time I’d been in Venice was three months ago. I was suddenly more than just a little scared and fear always made me angry. I hated weakness. Especially in myself.
“Don’t you dare judge me! You know nothing about me.” My chest grew tight, breathing became harder. I wanted to smack him and lick him all at the same time. How sick was I?
He snorted. “Of course I do, Pandora.”
The sound of my name rolling from his lips made me shiver.
I narrowed my eyes and could feel the anger turning my normally ice-blue color a frosty swirling lavender. Anger. Lust. They were both two sides of the same emotion and my demon was feeding off of it.
“Then kill me, Priest. End this. Go ahead.”
He stepped away from me, it almost appeared involuntary.
“You know me so well do you?”
Again he wore that cold expression I was quickly learning to hate.
“You arrogant bastard,” I snarled, “you think you’re no different than me? Fool yourself if you want to. Judge me all you want, but you know it’s true. Go ahead, priest, kill me. And I promise to sit here like a good girl and take it.” I tilted my head to the side, my hair slid across my breasts. “But this offer is only good for the next minute. So you think about it real good, because I promise you, it will never be this easy again.”
He stared at me as if I were something unexpected. An oddity he was both repulsed by and curious about.
“Why did you let us leave earlier?” he asked in a voice so low I almost hadn’t heard him say it.
